


A Place Upon the Mountain

by travelingneuritis



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon Retelling, Extended Character Study, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Road Trip
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:28:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 61,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24186637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/travelingneuritis/pseuds/travelingneuritis
Summary: Headstrong, intelligent Zelda of Hyrule has been saddled with a divine destiny and a bodyguard she didn't ask for. Link, knight of the Royal Guard, has sworn to serve a princess who dislikes him, a royal family with a checkered past, and a nation facing an uncertain threat.A full and detailed telling of the narrative hinted at in Link's memories in Breath of the Wild.
Relationships: Link/Zelda
Comments: 85
Kudos: 248





	1. The Will of the Child

Queen Zelda of Hyrule always said that her eldest and only child, the Crown Princess Zelda, had known herself from the moment she was pulled, thrashing and furious, from the womb.

Most children don’t know themselves at all. They must make their own acquaintance over the years or decades it takes to grow up, and some never do. But Zelda had been different. Maman’s beloved friend Urbosa told her the story many times.

“You came out screaming and screamed for two hours more. Your father’s doctors were mightily concerned: why was the bloodline of Hylia Herself so purple in the face? Why was the heir to the royal crown wailing worse than a Redead? They measured your length and your width and your coloring and the response of your kicking feet to pinpricks. They were afraid of you, and your infant wrath like a storm. Your Maman had fallen into a deep faint as you came forth. Some physician or other was trying the effect of a cooling elixir on your overheated cheeks when your Maman came awake. She sat bolt upright on the birthing bed, grinned with pleasure at her noisy child, and said, ‘This one knows what she wants, and what she wants is the nipple. Give her to me.’ As soon as you latched on to her breast, you lay quiet as an afternoon cat. And you’ve known what you want and what you fear and what you need ever since. A blessed thing, in a girl who will one day be Queen.”

Her father had a different interpretation. “Willful child,” he said. Dotingly, when she was still small enough for her willfulness to charm him. With increasing frustration as she grew older and her will began to grate against his. 

Zelda privately thought that Maman and Père and yes, even her beloved Urbosa, were reading a little too far into a newborn crying for milk. 

***

If there was one true lesson to be learned from the story of her birth, it was that Zelda’s human vessel was too small for the hugeness of her feelings. Because she was a Princess, and because she was of a holy bloodline, she received every possible attention from nannies and governesses and tutors and mentors. Every one of them tried to teach her to hide her outsize emotions, and every one of them failed. 

“She’ll learn to play politics when she’s good and ready,” Maman said, “and not a moment sooner.”

Her childhood tantrums were a thing of legend. When she was two, she screamed at her nanny so loudly that he bled from one ear and had to be sent on medical leave till it healed. When she was five, a visiting dignitary patted her patronizingly on the head, and so she lifted a leg and urinated on his shoes. “Treat me like a dog and I’ll _be_ a dog,” she shouted as she was hauled away by her mortified mother.

When she was six, she was assigned a theology tutor whose role was to prepare her to take over the devotionals her mother led each week in Hyrule Sanctum. Zelda did not relish these sessions, which were far more boring than music or botany or chasing cats around Castle Town.

“With your mother in her… _condition,_ she will have to give up performing these devotionals in a few months. Someone must take them over,” the tutor explained to her young charge. “Don’t you want to be a good daughter, and help your Maman until she is better?”

“Not ‘specially,” replied Zelda. She was mumbling a little because she had a finger in her mouth, prodding and wiggling a tooth so loose it was hanging by a thread. “How come it has to be me? Why can’t Père do it?”

“Because only the females of your line bear the blood of the Goddess,” said her tutor. “Your grandmère heard the whisperings of the divine voice. Your mother will one day teach you to hear it as well. That is after she recovers from her present...sickness. Until then, you must take on her duties, for the good of Hyrule.”

“She’s not sick, she’s pregnant. And I think it’s silly.” 

“It’s the very highest honor. And take your finger out of your mouth. You’re not a peasant.”

Zelda gave her tooth one final, purposeful push, and took her finger out of her mouth as instructed. Then she spat her baby tooth at her tutor, in a globule of red foam. 

“Now you’ve got the bloodline, too,” she sweetly lisped. 

***

In the end, no one succeeded in teaching Zelda control, but she taught it to herself. Sooner than anyone might have predicted.

She remembered it with narrative clarity. She was dressed in heavy velvet beside the fur-draped form of King Rhoam. His was the more splendid figure, but it was she, pale and tiny beside him, who drew the eyes of the court. It seemed as if every breath was being held, waiting for an outburst. Zelda’s blood was like fire in her veins; her hands and feet were icy. She might boil over at any moment. She might freeze into a statue and never move again. 

King Rhoam was looking down at her. She saw herself, distorted, in the golden curve of his crown. She looked in his face and knew, even at six, that he expected her to fail this most public of tests. He expected her to rage, or scream, or wail, or laugh uncontrollably. Zelda turned away from him, anger at his faithlessness thawing her frozen fingers. 

She walked composedly up the steps of the dais in the center of the Great Hall. She reached out with untrembling fingers, lowered a silken veil over her mother’s face, and returned to her father’s side as the pallbearers bore the dead Queen of Hyrule away.

She walked beside King Rhoam all the way to the gravesite. She was only six, but that was old enough to feel his grief falling from him like a perfume. Old enough to know that sometimes people died, and it was no one’s fault. Not even Père’s, though he could certainly be blamed for getting Maman in the state which had led to her death and the death of their unborn son. Old enough to offer him real comfort, true comfort, not from child to adult but from one human to another: a quiet touch, a sharing of tears, a sympathetic remark. 

She reached for his hand. He looked down at her from his great height, and she saw a new pain join the pain that already lived in his eyes: he did not know what to do with her. She was another weight on his shoulders. She was a burden. 

The look was gone as quickly as it had come, but it was too late: Zelda knew now that she had lost both parents in one day. King Rhoam put his arm around her shoulders, but there was a stiffness to the gesture that repulsed her. She dodged his embrace and walked wordlessly away through the crowd of mourners, who parted to make a path for their princess. She heard the king melt into tears behind her, calling after her once in a broken voice, but she held her head high and gritted her teeth and walked until she could hear him no more.

From that day on, gone was the _enfant terrible_ whispered about belowstairs and in the alleyways of Castle Town. Zelda became, in the years following the Queen’s death, the very picture of royal good breeding. She smiled at important people and nodded regally at unimportant ones. She learned her lessons and thanked her tutors. She began training with priestesses to unlock the holy power in her blood that King Rhoam was sure would prove crucial in the coming war against the prophesied Calamity. 

To the common folk, Princess Zelda was a beautiful, accomplished young girl who bore up under her terrible and unfair destiny with wisdom, grace and munificence. A hope for the future, a gleaming link in the chain which stretched back into a mythical past and would survive— Hylia willing— into an uncertain future. She was laboriously gentle with the people she would one day lead, and they were devoted to her.

This might have bridged the widening chasm between father and daughter. If she had been less stubborn, if he had been less of a king and more of a father, it would have been enough. But something had fractured between them the day they laid the Queen of Hyrule to rest, and it never did mend. Zelda’s young pride, as fixed at six as it would be at sixteen, could not prevent her longing for her father when she woke in the night with wet cheeks. But it prevented her from going to him for comfort, when it was so plain he had no belief in her. Her hardness hurt his feelings; his faithlessness sickened her. Zelda knew that the fault was partly hers— but it was his fault, too, and she would not beg him to love her. 

For all this, never did their antagonism break the surface. An outside observer would have thought their relationship proper, wholesome, even affectionate. The battleground of their wills was littered not with curses and blows, but with poisonous praise and double-edged smiles. In his presence Zelda was docile to a point of insolence. She followed his commands with a vicious exactness, without ever complying with their spirit. He responded with barbs of his own, shards that melted in her flesh like ice so that she could not even remember, afterward, exactly why they hurt. 

To her, he was an arrogant autocrat, an obstacle to be thwarted. To him, she was still a six-year-old child refusing from spite to cry at her own mother’s funeral. They did not want or need or love the same things. There could be no peace between them, only truce. And when the king now called her a “willful child”, she glowed with pride.

***

King Rhoam insisted on a classical education for his daughter. He recruited only the best tutors from the distant reaches of Hyrule: Language and composition from a Rito, mathematics and technology from a Necludan, equitation from a Faronian, martial arts from a Gerudo. He taught her Hyrulean history himself, unwilling to trust so vital a subject to anyone else.

Despite their frequent head-butting, Zelda and her father enjoyed their history lessons together, which served as a daily ceasefire. The king had a profound love and respect for the old tales: the Goddess Hylia, the first evil Demise, the Hero of Time. The princess particularly enjoyed hearing about the messianic bloodline of the Goddess, every one a Zelda stretching back to the first primeval Hylians.

Every day she would rise with the sun, eat breakfast and bathe, all in the company of her handmaidens, each an honored noblewoman in her own right. Then she would study: in the schoolroom above her bedchamber for morning lessons, then out into Hyrule Field after lunch for practical lessons in botany and athletics.

As she grew older, she also took on more of the responsibilities that would ordinarily have fallen to the Queen of Hyrule. As the oldest living Zelda, it was her duty to perform weekly public devotionals to the Goddess, reciting prayers in the Sanctum, singing ancient songs. She did not enjoy these functions, which were tedious in the extreme; but her father insisted. “‘A drop of sweat will save a river of blood,’” he always said. It felt like more of a bucket of sweat to Zelda, but she did as she was told.

To help her develop the proper musicality, she took lessons in singing and elocution from a court poet, a Rito named Kheel.

For a time Zelda was Kheel’s only student, as the Rito considered herself a bard first and a teacher second. But when Zelda was ten, her tutor took on a second student, a lad named Mikah whose natural talent captivated even the choosy Kheel. Mikah was a Kakarikan, well-spoken, polite, and highly trained in the combative arts even at the tender age of thirteen. Thenceforth Zelda and Mikah studied music together, sometimes performing duets for the court. 

Though she never excelled in music, Zelda came to treasure her lessons with the stern but fair Kheel and the spirited Mikah. Her teacher knew how to manage her naturally impatient temper such that the princess never became overwhelmed, even when it took her a long time to grasp some tricky musical concept. Kheel never lost patience, keeping time with rhythmic clacks of her curved beak and accompanying Zelda’s rather imperfect melody on the concertina.

Mikah, on the other hand, had a temperament much more like Zelda’s, if somewhat better regulated. They understood each other immediately. Though just as quick to take offense to slights as Zelda herself was, Mikah knew better than to risk his good position with bad behavior.

He might have been annoyed at the younger girl who frequently trailed around after him, peppering him with questions; but if he found her tiresome it never showed. As a result, she was fiercely protective of him, and would defend him against all comers. Even so, he did not have an easy time of it as a Kakarikan at court. Noblemen’s bratty sons teased him unmercifully for his scarlet eyes, dark skin and the shock of white curls which he boyishly refused to comb. He sometimes showed up for their lessons with fresh bruises on his face, fresh cuts on his knuckles; but he stubbornly resisted Zelda’s doctoring, recounting the brawls for her in such merry, colorful terms that he soon had her laughing. So easily did he redirect her attention that she never quite understood how bad it really was for him. 

She was horrified, therefore, the first time she caught him in the middle of a real brawl. She was twelve then, and he fifteen; she followed sounds of a commotion to a narrow alley where she found him fending off a much older assailant, an imperial guard twice his age and three times his size. He was doing fairly well for himself, dodging and darting around his attacker, landing quick sharp blows that drove the big man back for a moment. But he was no match for the guard’s superior strength, and his stamina was flagging when Zelda found him. She screamed with all the outraged fury of an offended queen.

“Step away from him at once!” she commanded, channeling an authority she had never possessed before, even in her wildest outbursts. The guard backed away from his victim, his reddened face fading to grey as he realized who was yelling at him.

“Your Highness!” he exclaimed. “Forgive me, I didn’t see you—”

“That much is evident! I daresay if you had known yourself to be observed, you would at least have had the decency to pick on someone your own size! And you wear the armor of a sworn knight of Hyrule. For shame!” She helped Mikah to his feet. 

“Your Highness,” the man protested “I must defend myself— I was deliberately provoked! The cur disrespected the crown, and your own family name!”

“I refuse to believe such nonsense,” snapped Zelda. “This _cur_ is my friend, and _you_ are no more than a bully. Get out of here, and expect to be chastised for disgracing your rank!”

She helped Mikah away, escorting him up to her own chamber where she could give him a healing tincture and a basin to wash in. He seemed unusually grave, and could not respond to Zelda’s words of encouragement with more than an unconvincing smile.

“I hope you don’t take that brute’s words to heart. I’ve never heard such drivel. He was raving mad! H—”

“He spoke the truth,” said Mikah dully. “I insulted the crown. I _did_ provoke him.”

“But—”

“I was passing by him on the east promenade when he said… he said…” Mikah’s tan cheeks flushed brick-red. 

“What did he say?“

“He said, ‘Long live King Balthus.’” 

“King Balthus? But my father is King Rhoam.”

“He was speaking of King Balthus Pistoriam the First, who imposed the relocation of the Sheikah tribe during the Triforce Era. Your father’s ancestor, who corralled my ancestors into the mountains like rats into a trap, and murdered whoever dissented. Your father’s ancestor, who silenced our voices and stole our lands and destroyed our—”

“ _My_ ancestor,” interrupted Zelda. “You mean my ancestor.”

Mikah looked at her steadily. He did not answer.

“What did you do next? After the guard said… what he said?”

“I spat at his feet.”

“Oh, Mikah.”

“Zell, you don’t understand. What he said— it’s the same as if someone said to you, ‘Hail Ganon!’ King Balthus Pistoriam— to my people, his name is a dirty word.”

“Your people? But you’re… you’re Hyrulean,” said Zelda helplessly. “You’re Hyrulean same as me.”

“I’m a Sheikah. That is what I am first, before I am a Hyrulean, before I am a Kakarikan, even before I am a man.”

“Well, not to me!”

“Then you are willfully blind! I am proud of who I am; it is everyone else who wishes me to change. If you cannot accept that, then do not call me _friend_.”

Zelda’s lip trembled. Looking at her, he softened. He held out his arms for Zelda to stumble into.

“I’m sorry, Zell,” he said softly. “We _are_ friends. Aren’t we?”

“‘Course we are. I’m sorry that horrible man was such a pig to you. And I’m not at all sorry you spit on him. I would have spit on him, myself.”

“You look so tired. And we have an early lesson tomorrow. You should rest. I’ll see you in the morning.”

***

Zelda could not stop thinking of what Mikah had said. She asked her father about it during their next history lesson.

“King Balthus Pistoriam the First was not quite the tyrant your friend supposes,” said the king. “He did what he had to do, for the good of the kingdom.”

“But the Sheikah are _part_ of the kingdom,” pointed out Zelda. 

“This is all ancient history, my child. Why are you so fixated on it now?”

“It doesn’t feel very ancient. Mikah still has the bruises on his face from what that man did to him.”

“He picked a fight with a much more advanced fighter, and received some scrapes for his troubles. He should be grateful it did not go worse for him. If he were a little older, and a little less skilled a singer, I would not be so inclined to look the other way for this misdemeanor. A grown man would receive three days in the stocks. Your friend is lucky to have gotten off with a few knocks to the head.”

“That guard should be the one in the stocks, not Mikah! And how come you never told me about all that with Balthus Pistoriam when we did our unit on the rise of Ganondorf the Demon King?”

“Because it is neither so simple as you childishly suppose, nor so relevant as you wish.”

“But Père—”

“I grow weary of your childish pique. Today’s lesson is finished. We will reconvene tomorrow, at which point I expect to see you in a more cooperative mood.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic came about after my sister and I decided to do a March Madness-style review of all the voice actors for every translation of Breath of the Wild. We discovered that small acting choices had compounding consequences for the feel of each character and the story as a whole. Russian Urbosa had warmth, self-possession and grace. Japanese Daruk had a gruff authenticity. French Revali was extremely horny. French and Russian Mipha imbued the character with a worldly maturity some other versions lacked. 
> 
> Of the title character, we each had our favorites: she adored Japanese Zelda, the perfectionist who always feels like she's falling behind. We both felt an urge to protect the Spanish Zelda, who seemed younger and more vulnerable than the others. But it was the Zelda voiced by French actress Adeline Chetail that hooked my imagination. This Zelda was stubborn, angry, passionate, insolent. Her prickliness attracted me; her rare glimpses of softness intrigued. I meant, at first, to write three short stories: one based on the Japanese Zelda, one on the Spanish, one on the French. That will most certainly never happen, but I don't mind because this one has grown into a complete story, and French Zelda was my favorite anyway.
> 
> I strongly recommend, if you have the DLC, that you recover and watch all the memories in different languages so you can see which ones appeal to you (I wouldn't bother looking them up online unless you can find them with subtitles in a language you understand). And if you want to read some of my sister's gorgeous writing, you can find her here: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laurathecookiemonster/pseuds/wreathoflaurels


	2. The Fifth Champion

After the incident with Mikah, Zelda became insatiably fascinated by Sheikah history. She searched the castle library for evidence of the genocide to which Mikah had referred, but found no more than a few passing references to a failed insurrection and a brief civil war, overshadowed by the defeat of Ganondorf by an earlier Zelda and her Hero of Time. She pestered Mikah for more information, but he seemed so uncomfortable to be talking about it with her that she gave up. 

But Purah, her science tutor, was more forthcoming. When not instructing the future Queen of Hyrule in the arts of chemistry, physics and robotics, Purah worked full-time at the Royal Ancient Tech Lab with her research partner Robbie. Both were members of the Sheikah tribe, transplants from Kakariko. They didn’t mind allowing Zelda to lurk in out-of-the-way corners of their lab, so long as she promised not to touch anything. And they naturally talked sometimes about intertribal politics, especially when their two assistants, Shai and Jitan, brought it up. Sooner or later someone would remember Zelda, shamelessly eavesdropping in the corner, and shut down the conversation; but in the meantime she learned a lot that way. The very first thing she learned was that no self-respecting Sheikah would trust a word written in a Hylian text. It was the great tragedy of the Sheikah that they had been stripped of their own history. To Robbie and Purah, the only way to reclaim their cultural narrative was through technological, archaeological study. The work they did on the newly-excavated Sheikah machinery took on a devotional aspect that was practically religious.

Since she was spending so much time at the lab anyway, Zelda began pestering Purah and her assistants to let her help. They gave her small jobs to do at first: washing out beakers, sweeping the lab. But she proved a dedicated little worker even with the humblest of tasks, and soon took to spending all her free hours in the lab or out on errands for the Sheikah scientists. She babbled to Mikah incessantly about their research, until he laughed and pretended to cover his ears.

Mikah’s musical training soon outpaced Zelda’s, and when he was sixteen he was offered a position as a court bard. His silver voice and obvious favor with the king made him instantly famous, and he stopped appearing with fresh bruises and scrapes. Zelda was not too young to notice what all the court ladies noticed: the Kakarikan bard with the stark white curls and the deep tan and the slender, athletic figure was as much a pleasure to look at as to listen to. They called him exotically handsome, to which Zelda always replied indignantly that while he was undeniably good-looking he was not _exotically_ anything. It made her laugh to compare his polished court manners with the lively, mischievous lad she knew. The young ladies at court quickly labeled him a moody dreamer, which Zelda never lost a chance to twit him about. He suffered her teasing with good humor, playing up the brooding poet act whenever he knew she was watching. 

When she turned fourteen, Zelda went on a diplomatic tour to pay her respects to the heads of the major cities of Hyrule. She was intrigued by the democratic customs of the Rito in their village on the Pillar, enjoyed a cozy visit with Urbosa in Gerudo Town. King Dorephan in Zora entertained her immensely, teasing her for her rapid growth as a Hylian. Kakariko was the final stop on her tour, and though she had looked forward to this destination the most of all she was by this time heartily sick of the inside of her royal carriage, sick of travel, sick of smiling at strangers. Her handmaidens and the pair of liveried bodyguards who had accompanied her must have been quite as tired of her company as she was of theirs, though they all made an effort to be polite. 

To Zelda’s joyful surprise, she was greeted at the village gate by familiar faces: Purah and Mikah had gone home to Kakariko ahead of her, to be part of her welcoming party. They had exchanged their courtly costumes for the traditional trousers and short robes of the Sheikah tribe. The moment she saw her friends in the sea of unfamiliar faces, her heart soared, all weariness forgotten. 

“Surprised?” Mikah asked, laughing at Zelda’s excitement. “I thought you would be. We were given leave to join you for the final leg of your tour. You should see your face, Zell!”

They conducted her to the house of Paya the village elder, where Zelda accepted her salutations and bowed deeply in return, thanking the elder for her gracious welcome. That first night, the visitors were honored by a feast of traditional Kakarikan dishes, heavy on fungi, venison, and _sanke_ from Lantern Lake. After the feast, under the light of festival lamps and a full moon, Mikah stood in the center of the village green and performed the Hyrulean national anthem. He always managed to imbue even this stuffy piece with a liquidity it did not naturally possess, and Zelda enjoyed hearing it. Next he sang an ode to Hylia, the Goddess whose blood ran in Zelda’s own veins. 

After this, he dismissed the musicians that had accompanied his singing till now, and stood by himself in the center of the crowd with a bodhrán in one hand and a double-ended tipper in the other. He flicked the tipper up and down the goatskin drum, coaxing a rhythm out of it like a rolling of distant thunder. Then he began to sing, not in the measured tones of Hylian court music but in the looping, soaring manner of the native Kakarikan:

> _I loved the goddess. I cannot recover_
> 
> _What I gave to her in our affair._
> 
> _Now I will never take another lover;_
> 
> _After a god, what mortal could compare?_
> 
> _What I gave to her in our affair_
> 
> _Was not enough to win her holy favor._
> 
> _After a god, what mortal could compare?_
> 
> _What is a god who is not, too, a savior?_
> 
> _My faith was not enough to win her favor;_
> 
> _She let me fall upon a knife she’d made._
> 
> _What is a god who is not, too, a savior?_
> 
> _Why did I let myself fall on her blade?_
> 
> _She let me fall upon the knife she’d made,_
> 
> _But it was not her steel that bled me dry._
> 
> _Why did I let myself fall on her blade?_
> 
> _Why did I find disfavor in her eye?_
> 
> _It was not her steel that bled me dry._
> 
> _I loved the goddess. I cannot recover._
> 
> _Why did I find disfavor in her eye?_
> 
> _Now I can never take another lover._

Zelda had never heard a song like this before, from him or anyone else. It made the hair rise on her neck, and gooseflesh cover her arms and legs. The famous silver voice keened and curled around the base of her spine, freezing her where she sat like a hare transfixed by a snake. She did not move until a thundercrack of applause broke the spell. 

“I’ve never heard anything like that,” she said to Purah beside her. Purah looked uneasy, and did not answer; but her younger sister Impa did.

“He’d lose his tongue, and maybe his head too, if he sang something like that for the king.”

“Why?” asked Zelda, confused. “He sings love songs all the time at court. He sings whatever he’s asked.”

“That wasn’t a love song,” said Purah tensely. “It’s a history disguised as a love song. The Sheikah used to be favored by the Goddess, if you believe the old tales. But she didn’t lift a finger to protect us when we needed her.”

“You mean the… the relocation.”

“That’s a funny way of saying _extermination_ ,” said Impa heatedly, but her sister shushed her, glancing nervously at Zelda’s guards. They were flirting vigorously with her handmaidens, and did not seem to have listened to the song at all. Zelda was relieved; she would have hated to have to push them off a cliff in order to keep them from ratting Mikah out.

It was a shock to realize that the Goddess who figured so favorably in Hyrulean lore had left such a scar on the Sheikah. If Hylia could turn her back on a whole race, what was to prevent her turning her back on Zelda? 

Other musicians joined Mikah then, keeping time on their double-barreled drums that pulsed like beating hearts. They sang traditional Kakarikan songs with no seditious undertones. 

Two changes resulted from that evening’s entertainment. The first was that Zelda vowed to herself she would be a better ruler than her father, who would rather rewrite every history book in the royal library than allow the Sheikah their anger.

The second was that Zelda fell hair-over-heels in love with Mikah. It was odd, perhaps, that an anti-Hylian fable should be the thing that awakened Zelda to her friend’s romantic potential. But she could not help admiring his nerve in daring to perform that particular song in front of a pair of armed Hylian guards, let alone the crown princess of Hyrule. Some credit for her crush must go to the Kakarikan musical style, which was a lot more captivating than the pompous sonnets she was used to. Additional credit had to be paid to his phenomenal good looks. Of course, Zelda knew perfectly well he could never think of her in _that way_ — he was seventeen, practically a _man_ , while she was just a fourteen year old child. 

He must have been aware of her youthful infatuation, but considerately pretended not to notice how she blushed and stammered in his presence. After a while she got used to it, and could act more or less normal around him, although she did get a lot snippier when court gossip paired him with this or that noble lady. Just because he wasn’t hers didn’t mean anyone else should get to have him.

***

Zelda had begun spending more and more time away from the castle, travelling by carriage with her handmaidens and a pair of guards to visit everyone on the ever-shrinking list of candidates to pilot the divine beasts. Her father took her interest in the selection of her Champions as a welcome sign of devotion to her divine birthright. In reality, Zelda was no more theistic than she’d ever been; but the Divine Beasts were very real defensive machines that might prove the saving of Hyrule, should the Calamity ever come to pass. 

When she was fifteen King Rhoam began more frequently to broach the subject of who should become his daughter’s sworn knight, now that her duties so often took her out into the wild places of the country. After all, the old tales told not of four Champions but of five— one for each divine beast, and one to wield the Master Sword.

“I have my eye on a few different knights,” King Rhoam informed his daughter one evening at dinner. “There is an archer from Mabe Village known to be excellent with horses— a trait the Hero of old possessed. Another from Faron who is said to understand the speech of trees. And there are rumors of a certain knight, himself the son of a warrior, who has undertaken to travel the country with no quest save to test his own skills by offering aid to anyone who asks. That could be our Hero— if only we could track him down.”

“I have met none of these men, nor do I need to,” said Zelda, calmly eating her forcemeat. “I already know who my knight must be.”

“Oh? I’m pleased to hear you have begun to consider it seriously. What is your opinion?”

“My sworn knight should be Mikah.”

King Rhoam dropped his knife and fork with a clatter. Then he burst out laughing. 

Zelda frowned. “Why should he not at least be considered?” she asked defensively. “The Hero of Time bore not one weapon, but two: the Master Sword, and an ocarina which he played so beautifully that the laws of time and nature were bent to his will. Why should not a musician be named as my hero?”

“Mikah is not a knight,” pointed out King Rhoam.

“Then knight him. He is a skilled martial artist.”

“As evidenced by his propensity to pick fights with everyone he meets?”

“Not everyone he meets— merely the ones who deserve it. He is a virtuous young man, Père. He is skilled at fighting, sensitive and kind. He would bear the title with honor.”

“I am looking for a Champion to wield our nation’s most precious artifact,” said her father, “not a boyfriend for my teenage daughter. Mikah’s name will not enter into this conversation again.”

“You won’t even consider him, and we both know why.”

“Oh?” said King Rhoam, his beard bristling dangerously. “Whatever can you mean, child?”

“It’s because he is a Sheikah,” she said recklessly. “You will use them for their technology— you will take their research— but you will not grant them a seat at the table. Your hypocrisy makes me sick!”

“Watch your tongue!” King Rhoam shouted, bringing his hand down on the table. The servant who had been clearing the meat course flinched. Zelda knew that she was toying with fire, but she was too angry to stop herself. 

“Mikah would protect me better than any stranger you pluck from a list,” she insisted. “Do you really want your only daughter travelling in the company of an unknown man, anyway? As the daughter in question, I think _I_ should have final say, and I won’t accept some empty-headed bag of muscles just because he knows how to swing a sword around!”

“You will accept who I tell you to accept!” shouted the king. “You forget yourself, Princess! The decision is not yours, it is mine! Now go to your room until I give you leave to emerge.”

Zelda stood up, throwing her chair back so that it clattered to the floor. “Fine!” she shouted. “Leave me alone as long as you like— at least I’ll be able to stand the company!”

“Oh, and you might as well write a farewell letter to the Sheikah boy,” her father added as she stomped away. Zelda froze, her heart icing over. “He’ll be gone from this castle long before I let you out of your room. Now get out of my sight, and meditate on who owes obedience to whom!”

Zelda ran from the dining hall, her eyes bright with tears that she would rather die than let fall.

*******

“Hero of Hyrule, chosen by the sword that seals the darkness, you have shown unfailing skill and bravery in the face of adversity and proven yourself worthy of Hylia’s holy blessing. Whether heaven-bound, unfixed in time, or cast in eternal night, the sacred blade is forever bound to the soul of the hero. May you be protected; may you and the sacred blade grow ever closer…”

Zelda’s voice faltered. Her arm lowered momentarily; she had forgotten the next part. Would it matter if she improvised? Would anyone even notice? Her Champions were murmuring among themselves, the ceremony a mere detour from their real business of training to defend Hyrule. Her sworn knight looked even less engaged, though that might have just been his permanent expression. He seemed to have korok seeds rattling around where a brain should go. A perfect bodyguard. A Master Sword Delivery System. No wonder her father had chosen him.

“Forged in the long distant past, the sword that seals the darkness…” Zelda stifled a yawn. She’d been up half the night translating an ancient Sheikah text relating to a “hidden key”. Then had come the inauguration of the Champions, in which she presented her team with the favors she had made for them. Urbosa, Daruk, Revali and Mipha, a Gerudo, a Goron, a Rito and a Zora respectively. She had picked them herself, and trusted them. The same could not be said for the sworn knight assigned to her by the king. Today’s ceremony was the first time she had ever laid eyes on him, and she couldn’t say she was impressed. King Rhoam accused her of being prejudiced against the boy, but Zelda had plenty of reasons to dislike her new bodyguard.

King Rhoam had been quite thrilled when he finally tracked down the knight who travelled Hyrule in search of a quest, issuing him an immediate summons back to the castle. Everyone had been surprised to find that the Link of whom such harrowing rumors were told was barely sixteen, no older than Zelda herself. This had given the king pause, but he knew and respected Link’s father, an imperial knight. He had decided to withhold judgment until he’d had a chance to interview everyone else on his list.

This turned out to be unnecessary. One day the boy had been hanging around a courtyard when one of the Guardians stored there went haywire and began bolting off laser beams. While everyone else sensibly ducked for cover, Link had grabbed a pot lid and deflected a beam right back at the Guardian, destroying it instantly. King Rhoam took that little stunt as a divine omen. Furthermore, the Master Sword seemed made for Link’s hand. He bore it in a trial combat against half a dozen of the King’s elite bodyguards, and bore it well. Zelda had no idea if that was easy or hard: Link was the first and only person to attempt it. But when he handed it back, the king suddenly found it too heavy to hold. It was as if the sword were declaring its allegiance. Link was the new Hero of Hyrule.

Everyone thought it a perfect match, and congratulated the princess on the ingenuity and courage of her knight. All she could think about was the precious data he’d vaporized with that pot lid. He was her father’s man, all the way down to his open disregard for the Sheikah’s hard work.

“Guardian of Hyrule,” she droned, barely feeling the words leave her lips, “ancient steel, forever bound to the Hero. In the name of the Goddess Hylia, I bless you and your chosen hero. Over the seas of time and distance, when we need the golden power of the Goddess, our hope rests in you, to be forever by the hero’s side. May the two of you be stronger as one. By the Triforce.”

“By the Triforce,” echoed the other champions, recognizing their cue. Link’s lips moved, but his voice was too quiet to reach Zelda’s ears. He was like a hologram of a boy. That sword had more personality than he did. 

This morning King Rhoam had sworn Link and the other champions, to the service of Hyrule. This afternoon Zelda had ceremonially bound Link to the sword and to herself. If she didn’t get a move on, she’d find her evening wasted, too. 

“Thank you all for being here,” she said briskly. “I know you must be eager to get back to your divine beasts. I know I am eager to return to my lab. I will see you all very soon. Urbosa, will you walk me back?”

“Of course.” The others dispersed. Urbosa offered Zelda her arm and the two went back down the broad avenue toward the castle. Link followed them, his footsteps as inaudible as his voice.

“Thank you, sworn knight,” said Zelda over her shoulder. “That will be all.”

He dropped back a few steps and continued to follow them.

“He’s bound to your service now,” Urbosa pointed out. “He’s supposed to accompany you everywhere.”

“I’m still on castle grounds,” grumbled Zelda. “And _you’re_ with me. Do you mean to tell me he can defend me better than you can?”

Urbosa threw her head back in laughter. “You’re a prickly little bird,” she said, “but you’ll make your peace. Just give it time.”


	3. Following Shadows

Zelda could say this for Link: at least he knew how to shut up. She almost never heard him speak. He answered direct questions in as few words as possible, and asked no questions of his own. She never heard him voice an opinion, or even waste breath on greetings and farewells. She was grateful for this, actually. It made him easier to ignore.

But his very presence was a distraction. He followed her everywhere except into the privy and her personal suite of rooms in the castle. He had his own room in the castle, where he slept and ate and probably stared blankly at a wall until he was needed again. _She_ didn’t need him, of course. But her father needed him for his asinine game of make-believe. King Rhoam was convinced that if they recreated the old stories, with every role filled and every part played, the Calamity would be turned back again as it was in the myths. Personally, Zelda thought this a sign of King Rhoam’s weakening faculties. To think that the Calamity would be defeated because a princess and a knight played dress-up as a goddess and a hero—! 

She went along with it because the four Champions were a part of the charade King Rhoam thought so vital, and they actually _would_ be useful if worse came to worst. The divine beasts were like moving fortresses, each one outfitted with both offensive and defensive capabilities. Between them, Fort Hateno, the Citadel in Akkala, and the strategic placements of garrisoned soldiers throughout Hyrule, no mortal enemy stood a chance.

And the “Calamity” was a mortal enemy— of that Zelda was certain. King Rhoam had his fortune-tellers filling his head with all sorts of fairy tales about mystical curses and ancient bloodlines. Zelda didn’t discredit the rumors entirely, but she interpreted them very differently. In her opinion, there was a scientific explanation for every curse or miracle you could name. Most likely, enemies from outside Hyrule were conspiring with agents within the country. There were natural forces at work, too: geophysical activity and weather patterns were beginning to shift unpredictably. Perhaps it was these changes that fueled the enemies of Hyrule; perhaps conditions were even worse beyond the borders, and distant unrest would soon come knocking. With such concrete enemies to worry about, why go looking for imaginary foes?

Still, the king was the king, and Zelda must play her part. She bowed and looked grave whenever King Rhoam commanded her, yet again, to try harder to unlock the powers he was sure she must be sitting on. She wrote hand-wringing accounts of her attempts in her diary, which she knew the king read regularly. She visited the Springs of Courage and Power, just as she had every year since she was eight years old. She didn’t believe in it any more now than she had then. She wasn’t deliberately cynical, but it was hard to believe in anyone who refused to talk back.

Speaking of which...

“From here we’ll make our way to Goron City,” she announced to the empty boy behind her. She might as well have been talking to the air. But there was one significant advantage to having her diminutive new shadow: so long as Link was near, Zelda could go wherever she pleased without the need for additional chaperones, or her cumbersome, slow-moving royal caravan. She could strike out at a moment’s notice on her stallion Storm, go anywhere she liked at whatever pace she liked. She could go out on missions for Robbie and Purah visiting the Sheikah structures they couldn’t conveniently access, bringing back detailed notes and pictures on the Sheikah Slate. She felt like a real adventurer, an intrepid seeker after the truth, a hero on her own sprawling quest. If Link’s constant company was the price she must pay to be allowed to move freely about the kingdom, she would swallow her annoyance and pay it. 

She hoped, too, that she might run into Mikah on one of these journeys. He still wrote to her faithfully, recounting his adventures as a wandering troubadour. His colorful letters were almost the only reason she had for returning to the tedium of the castle between expeditions. Knowing Zelda’s interest in ancient Sheikah technology, he collected folk songs about the ancient structures peppered across Hyrule, annotating them in his letters to Zelda.

 _'Where the dragon’s mouth meets the serpent’s jaws/_ _A shrine sleeps in the forest with noble cause.'_ _Possibly the Zonai ruins in the Damel Forest? I don’t know what shrine it might refer to, but I picked up the verse from a travelling salesman at Sarjon Bridge._

In another letter he wrote, ' _He breaks the rocks that serve to bind/_ _Above the tempestuous bay/_ _On wings of cloth and wood entwined/_ _He lands on the altar to open the way.'_ _I cannot forgive the author for working in ‘tempestuous’ of all things then shooting the scansion all to hell with that last line. As to the actual meaning of the verse, your guess is quite as good as mine._

Zelda wrote back, _Talk more plainly, for my sake._ _Your metaphors are too opaque!_

Mikah replied, _I’d make it clearer if I could._ _The rumors are quite old._ _Easily misunderstood, a_ _nd difficultly told!_

 _In truth, I too wish the old stories were a bit less… metaphorical. It is my Grand Quest to write a unified history of all of Hyrule, with nothing left out from the first Calamity to the present day. You will feature prominently, as an adventuress in your own right— so don’t be stingy with the details in your letters to me! For now, I am trying to reconstruct the missing stories of the Sheikah. Uphill work indeed!_ _I’ll leave you with one more puzzle. See if you can figure it out, for I cannot:_

 _'When the moon bleeds and the fiends are reborn/_ _The monks invite you as they have sworn/_ _But first you must stand on the pedestal bare/_ _With nothing between you and the night air.'_ _Rather risqué, non? Don’t blame me; I am only repeating what I was told. I shall choose not to take it literally. The night air doesn’t agree with my fragile constitution._

_Send your next letter to Impa in Kakariko. I’ll pick it up when next I’m there._

_Farewell,_

_Mikah_

Letters were well and good, and Zelda was grateful for Mikah’s efforts to aid her research, but she missed talking to her friend. Link was no company at all.

Right now they were walking through the woods west of Lake Kolomo, heading for the nearby garrison where they would rest and have their midday meal. They’d descended just this morning after spending a week on the Great Plateau. The purpose of their journey had been to investigate some texts held by monks of the Eastern Abbey, which had led Zelda to investigate a structure which she believed to be some kind of medical facility. She and Link had camped out under a natural stone outcropping between the structure and the Temple for three nights while she’d tried to find a way in, but the structure was sealed and mostly underground, and her efforts had been fruitless. She would ask Purah and Robbie about it later. For now, she had more pressing concerns.

“I need to make some adjustments on Vah Rudania so Daruk can manage it as intuitively as possible. He’s figured out how to get it to move, but it clearly needs adjustments. It really is inspiring to remember that mobile fortress was actually built by people— ordinary people like us! Well, like me, anyway,” she amended, glancing back at the boy whose entire focus seemed to be on matching his pace to hers. She put on a little burst of speed. 

“Daruk and I should be able to figure out how Vah Rudania works and how to harness its power. There’s so much we still don’t know about these creatures. But if we want to turn back the calamity, we’ll have to figure it out quickly.”

She slowed to a stop, thinking. There was so much to learn, and all of it fascinating. But it was like a puzzle with half the pieces missing, and half of what remained seemed to belong to a different puzzle altogether. The Sheikah mechanisms were tricky enough to wrap her brain around, but she kept running across references to another mystery. There was some kind of key, a secret code or system for unlocking a deeper power. King Rhoam would be the first to say the key was a metaphor for her latent Goddess blood, but Zelda believed it to refer to something concrete. If not a physical key then a catalyst of some kind which would grant her access to all these stone structures sprinkled across Hyrule. At first she’d thought it might be the Sheikah Slate, but the more of its secrets she revealed the more she felt sure that it was just the lock which the key was meant to fit into. If only she could get it working properly—! Who knew what answers lay sealed up within these ancient shrines?

She’d come upon yet another reference to the key during her time with the monks of the Eastern Abbey, and it was this new reference which had her so wound up right now. The text had described a voice echoing from the distant past. A voice which, because it was itself so ancient, could speak directly to the “ancient powers”. Evidently the voice was just another name for the key referenced elsewhere, and the ancient powers indicated yet-hidden Sheikah technologies. So far, so predictable. 

But the text had snuck a revelation in, hidden amongst the usual prophecies and portents. It had given the voice a title: the Spirit of the Sword. Which meant the moon-faced boy behind her might be instrumental in locating the key to the ancient powers. If she could only get him to cooperate. 

“Tell me the truth,” she said suddenly, not turning around. “How proficient are you right now, wielding that sword on your back? It is supposed to speak with an ancient voice. Can you hear it yet... _hero?_ ” She finally turned to look at him. He was gaping at her, wide-eyed as usual.

He dropped his gaze first, saying nothing.

“Do you realize you may be carrying the key to this whole mystery on your back?” she asked with forced casualness. She walked on: the garrison was just ahead, thank the Goddess. Zelda could already hear sounds of people. Link followed, laboriously keeping his distance. “If the sword ever whispers a secret formula or a password or the location of a hidden key in your ear while you’re cuddling it at night, do please let me know. Better yet, write it down. You _do_ know how to write, don’t you?” She quickened into a jog, breaking away from her shadow. 

This time, he let her go.

***

The visit to Goron City was, by any account, a wild success. In the span of two weeks Daruk broke through whatever was standing between him and his divine beast. Zelda should be overjoyed— she _was_ overjoyed— but she couldn’t help feeling resentful as well. For Daruk’s progress owed nothing to the tweaks she’d made on Vah Rudania. It was _Link_ who helped him make the final connection.

Daruk’s praise of the silent boy rang like an accusation in Zelda’s ears.

“All the instruction manuals in the world can’t do what this little guy did,” he boomed joyfully. Link looked bashful— or perhaps that was a grimace of pain as Daruk crushed him in what the Goron probably thought was a gentle hug. 

“What did… he do?” asked Zelda, looking up from the Sheikah Slate where she was attempting to program a new protocol for upload into Vah Rudania.

“He just shoved me into old Rudy there and wedged the Master Sword in the door so I couldn’t get out. Any other lock I’d be able to break through easily,” he hastened to add, “but I didn’t want to nick the Blade of Destiny. So I stayed in there all day and all night, just wandering around the old girl, rolling into every corner and bouncing off every wall. And you know, it really worked! I feel like she and I came to an understanding last night."

“Rudania is named after a he, not a she.” It was all she could think of to say.

“Sure,” he agreed goodnaturedly, “but Gorons aren’t as fussy about he’s and she’s as you Hylians are. That Divine Beast’s a she and no mistake. The only she for me, from here on out! I feel like I’m really getting to know her, and _goro_ , does she have some seams to mine! So you can put that slate down, Princess, and take the night off. I’ve got it from here. Your boy and I are off for a tour of the Crater. You coming?”

“No, thank you,” Zelda said, more icily than she meant to. But Daruk didn’t seem to notice her tone, just swept Link away into the depths of Vah Rudania. Zelda watched them go until Link looked back at her, his eyes wider and more clueless than ever. Then she slammed the Sheikah Slate in her carrying pouch and flounced away.

The more she stewed over it, the more annoyed she got. It was an irrational thing to be angry about, which made her feel guilty, which made her feel angrier. She needed something to keep her busy, something she alone was good at, something the prodigal moron couldn’t just swoop in and do better. She cut her visit to Goron City short and journeyed back to the castle to update her notes with the new information she’d acquired on this trip.

But before she could settle back into her research, her father called her to him so that he could scold her for wasting time running around after mouldering old manuscripts.

“The Kingdom of Hyrule has better scholars than you,” he said. “Let them do the translating. Your only concern should be activating the power that sleeps in your blood. You might take a lesson from your sworn knight. Apparently he’s got a gift for awakening latent powers.” King Rhoam turned to Link, who as usual had taken a knee behind the princess.

“I heard what you did for Daruk, son. Arise, and let me shake your hand. You have brought tears of pride to an old man’s cheeks.” 

Zelda stood stiff-backed, staring into space, while the King of Hyrule embraced the young knight. He turned back to her, his hand still on Link’s shoulder. Link had the grace, at least, to look absolutely miserable.

“You’ve prayed at the Springs of Courage and Power,” King Rhoam reminded Zelda. “Perhaps we should have started you smaller. There is a fairy fountain in Tabantha where people used to worship. Bring an offering of rupees and beg the Great Fairy to intercede with the Goddess on your behalf. Try— _really_ try— to listen for the Fairy’s voice. Remember, ‘A drop of sweat will save—’”

“‘A river of blood.’ I _know_ ,” finished Zelda.

Sour and out of sorts, she dashed off a letter to Mikah, reluctantly locked her lab back up and went with Link to the Tabantha region. She threw her rupees into the glowing pond and offered up a prayer, but heard no voice emanating from the depths. Link seemed mesmerized by the glittering water, like a child confronted with a luminous stone for the first time. He kept shaking his head like a dog trying to shake water out of its ears. Then he knelt right by the water’s edge and put his face right next to the water, peering into it intently.

That was when Zelda made her escape. He was so distracted it was easy to creep down the path to where they’d tethered their horses, then gallop away as soon as she was out of earshot. She made for the ruined columns in the Rayne Highlands. She might as well take another crack at opening the shrine that stood among the columns. If she made some progress there, this trip wouldn’t be a total waste.

But try as she might, nothing Zelda did made the slightest difference to the cold stone edifice. She tried to sink into the zenlike mindspace that sometimes allowed her to break through a particularly cryptic translation, but she was too irritated, and the shrine remained dormant.

“Nothing,” she grumbled. “What else did I expect? This structure was designed to be exclusively accessed by the chosen one. There must be a way around it! How do I get inside? I need to activate it somehow.” She clinked her slate hopelessly against the Sheikah carvings on the shrine’s pedestal. She was so frustrated she wanted to cry. It wasn’t just this one shrine, it was the whole ridiculous mess. Her father was certain that the reason she had not yet awakened her inner powers was because she didn’t want to badly enough. But he was wrong; there _was_ something she was longing to awaken, down to her bones. It just wasn’t what _he_ wanted.

Zelda knew there was something buried in Hyrule, a treasure she and she alone was meant to find. She knew that she had the intelligence and the tenacity to uncover it, but it was so hard to focus when that wretched, wordless _wonderboy_ wouldn’t give her a moment to collect her thoughts. At least she had a little time away from him now. She wondered if he was still goggling at the pretty lights in the fairy fountain, or if he’d finally noticed she was gone and come looking for her. This area was stony and very dry this time of year, and Zelda had been careful to direct her horse where he wouldn’t leave any tracks. She should have some time before he caught up to her—

A familiar whinny sounded at the far end of the mesa. Zelda stared in growing disbelief as Link nimbly dismounted and jogged over to her.

“I am not in need of a constant escort,” she burst out. “How much clearer can I make it? Am I the only one around here with a mind of my own? I am _just fine_ by myself! Why don’t you put that in your next report to our beloved Père?” She swept past him, chin in the air. He watched her uncertainly a moment, then came running after her like a puppy. Zelda spun around, her hair whipping in the wind that had begun to kick up.

“And stop following me!” she shouted. 

“I can’t,” he said quietly, eyes wide.

“You’re sworn to _me_ ,” Zelda huffed. “Why are mine the only orders you refuse to obey? I’m supposed to be out here awakening some sixth sense, but all I’ve managed to awaken so far is the sense of being _constantly and unrelentingly followed!_ Can’t you get it through your skull, boy? _I don’t want you!_ ” 

He just shook his head helplessly. She felt tears of vexation pricking behind her eyes. Goddess, no. If she cried in front of Link right now, she might have to throw herself right off this mesa.

“Forgive my outburst,” she said, collecting herself with an effort. “It is unbecoming of a royal personage to raise her voice to a subordinate. Please accept my apology.”

Link nodded solemnly.

“Let’s make for Gerudo Town. I’ve been meaning to check in with Urbosa about Vah Naboris.” She had been meaning no such thing, but maybe Urbosa would have some advice for her. The older woman took a dim view of Hyrulean traditions of knighthood, which were unnecessarily patriarchal. Besides, other than her bedchamber and the privy, Gerudo town was the only place Link wasn’t allowed to follow her.

With a little relief in sight, Zelda even managed a smile that wasn’t _totally_ insincere.

***

The sun was lowering over Kara Kara Bazaar when the assassins struck. Zelda did not even bother crying out; who was there to ask for help? She had gotten what she so desperately wanted. She had finally given Link the slip. 

Pretending to head for Urbosa’s palace in Gerudo Town, she’d snuck out the rear gate and hired a sand seal to pull her back the way they’d come. Link wouldn’t even notice she was missing until morning, when they had agreed to meet up at the front gate. If Zelda rose early, she could even make the rendezvous. A whole night alone, with no lurking shadow! She was drunk with the ecstasy of freedom.

The Yiga assassins had seemed to appear out of thin air. One had sliced Zelda’s seal from nose to tail, spilling its guts in a steaming puddle across the shifting sand. Another had grabbed Zelda from behind and held her as a third raised his curved blade high. Zelda hadn’t even been afraid. She was too angry to be afraid. She’d used one of the many techniques Urbosa had taught her for neutralizing a male assailant— thank the Goddess the one who held her was a man! Then she’d taken flight. 

She had always been swift as a deer, but now Zelda was growing tired. The sand weighed her down. She was almost at the Kara Kara Bazaar, but she wasn’t going to make it, her attackers were closing in. She stumbled on a scorpion-hole in the sand and went sprawling. The three masked Yiga surrounded her, their curved blades held high against the setting sun. She was going to die. She had been a _child_ and a _spoiled brat_ and now she was going to die. Let the punishment fit the crime.

Except she didn’t die. It all happened so fast she almost missed it. The scythe of the Yiga who stood over her went spinning, his hand still gripping its handle. He gaped stupidly at his bloodied stump a moment before collapsing on the sand, a slice in his throat showing clean through to the spinal column. He only twitched for a moment before going still.

Another blade caught the light of the lowering sun. Another figure stood over Zelda:

Link, her sworn knight, holding aloft the Sword that Seals the Darkness. 

The two remaining Yiga regarded him from behind their masks. They could take him. They had the numbers, and they were bigger. But they turned and ran. Zelda didn’t understand until she turned her gaze to Link’s face. She had never seen him look so...so…

_Angry._

He dropped to his knees beside her. “Are you hurt?” he asked in a voice silken with rage— at the Yiga? At her, for running away? Zelda could not be sure. His face was hard as stone. His eyes refused to meet hers.

“Only winded,” Zelda said meekly. “Link, I—”

“We should get you under cover before the sun sets,” he interrupted. “There may be more of them nearby.”

“Link, you saved my life,” Zelda breathed. “I’ve been so…”

“It’s only my job,” he said grimly. 

“Well— thank you.” She was beginning to shake, though the desert hadn’t yet turned chill. It was all she could do to keep her voice from shaking, too.

But Link had said all he meant to say. He helped her rise— the first time he’d ever voluntarily touched her, his hand rough and callused in hers. Then he led her to the safety of the Bazaar, where Zelda spent the night in perfect, unbroken shame.


	4. Truce

Zelda slept for no more than a few scattered moments. She woke early, jolting painfully from a dream in which whole herds of sand-seals exploded gorily across the desert, and the oasis at the heart of the Bazaar bloomed red with Yiga blood.

She rose and dressed in the pre-dawn desert chill, wrapping her blanket around her shoulders as much for comfort as for warmth as she left her cloth-walled tent. Link was sitting by the fire outside, rubbing rock-oil onto the blade of the Master Sword, polishing it methodically with a scrap of soft suede. 

“Good morning,” she said quietly, crouching across the fire from him. He stiffened at the sound of her voice, and a fresh wave of shame crested over her. “Have you eaten breakfast yet?”

Link nodded in answer, then passed her a banana leaf with two perfect little rice balls on it, golden-tinged and flecked with Goron spice. 

“Thank you,” said Zelda politely. She managed a few bites of one rice ball. It was soft and moist and fluffy, the flavor nicely balanced. But before she could compliment him on the dish, he’d turned away from her, packing up their things. He had an almost magical knack for getting a shocking number of goods to fit into one or two small packs that they could carry easily between the two of them. He was a talented cook. Horses did whatever he asked. Dogs followed him around with a misty look in their canine eyes.

And he’d saved her life.

Stomach clenching, Zelda wrapped the other rice ball to save for later. If she ever felt like eating again.

***

Zelda left Link, once again, at the entrance to Gerudo Town. Their journey across the desert had been even more silent than breakfast. They stood now in the shadow of the front gate. Zelda could not think of how to say what she knew must be said.

“You needn’t worry about me running off. I’ve learned my lesson,” she said with a weak attempt at levity. Link was looking just below her eyes, expressionless. Although he didn’t quite shrug his shoulders, he gave the impression of it.

“All right,” Zelda squeaked. “Well, I should be going, then. I’ll meet you back here tomorrow morning at the latest. And I’ll stay with Urbosa till then. You’ll be all right?”

An absurd thing to ask. Link looked at her like she’d grown a second head.

“Of course you’ll be all right,” she said foolishly. “You’re always all right. Well… all right.” She turned and went into town.

The market square of Gerudo Town had always been one of Zelda’s favorite places, lively and dynamic, musical with the voices of women buying and selling everything under the sun. Today, the cheerful back-and-forth crashed against Zelda’s eardrums like a rockslide. She couldn’t get into the palace fast enough. Then she must wait, moping in Urbosa’s private sitting room, while the chieftain’s ladies-in-waiting offered her cooling drinks, snacks, and light entertainment until their chief could be notified of her presence. By the time Urbosa had finished with her other business and come out to greet her visitor, Zelda was nearly cross-eyed with exhaustion.

“This won’t do,” said Urbosa drily, eyeing her young friend. “Should I even bother asking if you’ve slept in the last week? Come with me, Princess. Let’s go for a ride.”

Twenty minutes later they stood together at the great console that formed the heart of Naboris. Urbosa put her hands on the controls here, there, her motions as gentle and sure as if she held a kitten, or a lover. The landscape visible beyond Naboris’s open doors passed by smoothly and swiftly, though Zelda herself hardly felt the divine beast move.

“You’ve done amazing things with her,” she breathed. “The first time I rode in Naboris with you, she missed a step and almost took a knee. How are you doing all this?”

“I’ve done nothing these past weeks but listen to her,” said Urbosa. “I’ve taken to sleeping inside her. She talks to me in my dreams. She has a voice, you know. It’s very quiet, but that only means I must listen the harder to hear it.”

“Oh, Urbosa—” Zelda whimpered.

“What is it, little bird?” asked Urbosa softly, turning away from the console to take Zelda’s hand.

“I’m in quicksand,” Zelda said miserably. “I’m frightened, and I’ve been so foolish!”

“Slow down, love, and tell me from the beginning. What is it you’ve done?”

Urbosa led Zelda outside to the mid-deck, where deep stacks of sleeping cushions showed regular use. She plumped them up and then bade Zelda sit down beside her. They sat quietly a while, watching the golden sand slip by.

“I’ve been vile to him,” said Zelda at last. Urbosa didn’t need to ask who Zelda meant by _him_. “I resented him. Do you know, I think there’s supposed to be a voice in that sword of his, and it might be the key to everything? If anyone can hear it, it will be him. And here I am, brimming with holy blood, and I can’t even get a whisper. It’s not fair to resent him, I know it’s not fair, but when has any of this been fair? I didn’t even give him a chance, and now—”

“Now what? It’s not too late, love. It’s never too late.”

“I think it might be,” Zelda admitted wretchedly. “I did something so…”

“Just tell me.”

Zelda took a deep breath. “I snuck away from him yesterday. We reached Gerudo town in mid-afternoon. I was supposed to come straight to you, but instead I snuck out the back way and went back to the Bazaar. I wasn’t going to do anything, I just wanted to be alone for once! But then… then…”

“Let me guess,” said Urbosa wryly. “He donned women’s clothes and followed you?”

“The Yiga found me first,” whispered Zelda. Urbosa made a strangled sound. Her arm tightened around Zelda’s shoulders. “I ran. I ran for a long time, but they caught up. And then— he was there. I don’t know how, but he was there.”

“What did he do?”

“He killed one of them.” Zelda’s eyes squeezed closed. The dead Yiga lay twitching against the red-tinged blackness of her eyelids. “The other two fled. I’d never seen him draw his sword in anger before. And it _was_ anger, Urbosa. I’ve never seen anything like it. I wasn’t afraid for myself, but I was terribly afraid all the same. The assassins were so quick, so ruthless— what if he died protecting me? What if it was _him_ twitching on the sand? Who would miss him? Who would take up his sword?”

“You are a stubborn creature. You always have been. Your love is not easy to win. But once bestowed, it is not easily shaken. If I can find peace with an echo of a voice from a past no one remembers, you can find peace with your silent protector. Of that I am sure.”

“I’ve spoilt everything. What can I possibly do?”

“You can sleep, little bird. Look, the sun is going down. Perhaps you will know more when you waken than you do now.”

***

Zelda awoke to a burst of distant lightning. “Urbosa! What was that? Did you feel that?” Her gaze darted around the scene, taking in the moonlit sands that only a moment ago had glowed with sunset. Beside her Urbosa watched with a wry smile on her lips.

Behind them stood Link, brushing away the shock of the sudden thunder.

“How did you— “ Zelda spluttered. “What are you doing here?” Urbosa threw her head back in laughter.

“What’s so funny?” begged Zelda, still disoriented. “Link, I fell asleep, I wasn’t trying to—”

“Relax, Princess,” said Urbosa. “I sent word that you were with me. So that he wouldn’t worry.”

Link nodded in assent.

“Of course,” said Zelda. Her heart was still pounding. Link was looking at her so oddly, his eyes glinting in the light that reflected off the pale sand. “Thank you.”

“Anyway,” Urbosa went on, standing and brushing the rumples from her skirt, “I must excuse myself for a moment. I’ve been sitting too long. And I should check on Naboris.”

Zelda and Link watched Urbosa saunter away. Zelda looked at Link. Link looked at his feet.

“I really did just fall asleep,” she said, pink-cheeked. “I wasn’t going to… to _try_ anything.”

“I believe you.”

“Link…” Zelda took a deep breath, willing herself to say what must be said, but for once Link got his voice out first.

“I know you didn’t ask for this,” he said. “I wish things were different, too. And they _will_ be different. There will come a time when this will all be over, and you will never have to see me again. I can go home to my family, and you can go home to yours.”

Zelda’s mouth had dropped open to hear so many words together from her silent knight, but it snapped closed now. She leaned her elbows against the stone railing and closed her eyes, turning her face into the wind. Naboris could really move when she wanted to.

“I’m been cruel to you,” she admitted. “I’ve been vicious, and selfish, and I haven’t been fair. You don’t have to forgive me. But I _am_ sorry.”

He leaned against the railing beside her, with the space of a body between them. 

“Why do you hate me?” he asked, finally. Of all the confounding things he could say!

“I don’t know,” said Zelda weakly. “I’m just childish, perhaps. I’ve—”

“You _do_ know. Tell me why you hate me, and I’ll forgive you.”

Zelda looked slowly over at him. He was watching her expectantly— but what was it he expected? Could she really tell him the truth? Would it be enough if she did? Her heart hammered in her ears. 

“Père chose you,” she said roughly, “without even asking me if I liked you— and I might have, I might have liked you if I had chosen you myself! Père says it doesn’t matter if I like you, because we don’t have to be _friends_ , we just have to fulfill our predestined roles. Who cares if the arm that raises the sword gets along with the blood that seals the shadow? But none of that is _real_ , it’s all _myths and fairy tales_ while somewhere out there something dark and terrible and _very very real_ is coming to hurt us! I know it’s not fair of me, but Link, I’ve never been allowed to choose. Père has always chosen for me, and the more he chooses, the more he chooses _wrong!"_

“You didn’t choose me,” Link echoed. 

Zelda laughed angrily— but the anger, this time, was not for him. “I know it’s childish. Père always says—”

“Zelda. Stop.” His voice was as quiet as ever, but something in it had hardened, and would not be denied. “I could have said no. I could have gone away with my family. _I_ chose _you_. I know you don’t feel as if you have a choice in all of this, but you _do_. And I am still waiting for you to make it.”

“Why aren’t you angry at me?” she asked, a little pleadingly. 

“I was angry,” he admitted. “But I can’t stay angry and still do what I need to do.”

“And what exactly is that? What are you trying to accomplish in all of this? Do you truly believe all the stories? Do you believe you’re the reincarnation of the Hero?”

“Something is coming,” he said slowly, “and it doesn’t much matter to me whether it’s an ancient mythic evil or just an ordinary army from across the sea. Whatever it is, my role is the same: I protect you so you can protect Hyrule.” He looked at her thoughtfully. “I don’t have to believe in bloodlines or ancient curses. I just have to believe in _you_. It’s simple where I’m standing."

“ _Do_ you? Believe in me? I haven’t given you much reason to.”

Link opened his mouth and closed it. He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand and looked out at the lights of Gerudo town, twinkling in the distance. Zelda felt her cheeks redden.

“Well,” she said briskly, “I will just have to try harder, that’s all.”

“If you’ll try, I’ll try,” said Link, the corners of his eyes crinkling in something that was almost a smile.

And with that Zelda must be content.

***

They stayed in Gerudo Town for two weeks more. Urbosa watched them together, sometimes with an irritatingly superior look on her face. Zelda didn’t know what anyone had to feel smug about; she and Link had reached a kind of peace, but that only made plain how very little they knew each other. After so many months in each other’s company, they were still essentially strangers.

At any rate, she no longer thought of him as her father’s patsy. And despite his silence, he could be surprisingly expressive. If she took the trouble to look, she could discern little changes in the set of his jaw or the slant of his eyes that spoke volumes. In any case, his conduct spoke louder than any words could have done. He noticed everything around him and filed it away for future use. He remembered everyone he ever met, and usually remembered their tales and troubles, too. He never passed a stranger in trouble without attempting to help, whether it was a traveler injured from a bokoblin attack or a child stuck up an apple tree. He was fluent with his hands, and he adapted quickly to changing circumstances. 

After Urbosa set them down outside of town the morning after their conversation, Zelda was surprised when he ignored her words of farewell as she prepared to go into the marketplace.

“Link, what are you…?” she said uncertainly, but he just winked at her and secreted himself behind the shrine that stood outside the main gate. Zelda was so flabbergasted to be winked at— by _Link!_ — that it took her a moment to gather her wits. By the time she did, he had come back out. But he didn’t look like himself at all; he was dressed as a rather unfashionable Hylian woman, his honey-colored hair tucked into a plain wimple, his boyish face obscured from the nose down by a short veil. If the shoulders were a little too broad for his ankle-length tunic, or the stride a little too wide to be that of a courtly lady— well, he looked the part well enough from a distance. 

“Which of my handmaidens did you take that from?” asked Zelda. “Freida?”

“Ebanon. Freida’s too tall.”

Zelda laughed and led the way into town.

When not conferring with Urbosa (who was perfectly aware that Zelda’s silent handmaiden was Link in a veil, and might even have given him the idea in the first place), Zelda spent much of her time as a guest in the home of Berta, a woman who ran a secret club specializing in unusual armaments.

Most interesting was the use Berta made of luminous stones. In Zelda’s research she had come across many references to Nayru’s Love, a quickening force of the Goddess Nayru said to glow with a heavenly blue light. It was impossible not to connect the supposedly celestial force to the blue glow of the few Guardians Zelda’s team had managed to bring into partial functionality. Robbie and Purah used luminous stones in their efforts to wake the Guardians, but so far no one knew exactly why they worked. 

Berta, however, had spent years researching the link between luminous stones, vivification, life and death. She was developing a prototype for a mask that would allow safer nighttime travel, by rendering the wearer invisible to the stal-creatures that were beginning to stir out in the countryside. 

“I started by grinding luminous stones into dust,” Berta explained, “and blending them with rock oil and a proprietary blend of powdered lizalfos parts. I painted this onto the mask, and it glows brighter when I bring it near the pit of stalizalfos near the Northern Icehouse. But I’ve never tested it in combat before; in theory it should provide increased protection against undead attacks, but without a test subject to wear my mask into a bone fight…” 

Link made an eager movement, his eyes alight. Zelda placed a restraining hand on his arm, suppressing a smile.

“I wish you the very best of luck in your search, Berta,” she said loudly. “In the meantime, perhaps I might peruse your notes? The link between luminous stones and artificial animation is of particular interest to me…”

Beside her, Link sighed dejectedly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Urbosa and the ageless, pan-dimensional Sage of Spirit Nabooru are dating. Sorry, I don't make the rules!! Anyway, thank you for reading and commenting and kudos, have a great and joyful day guys!!!


	5. Buried Alive

Traveling with a partner was orders of magnitude better than traveling with a shadow, but the pair were far from close. After their brief conversation aboard Naboris, Link reverted to his former silence. It seemed a friendlier silence, but even that change was most likely due more to Zelda’s changed perception of him than to any change within Link himself. Even so, Zelda could not help wondering if he would be more communicative if she hadn’t squandered her first chance at winning his regard.

After a visit to Rito Village to receive Revali’s updates on Vah Medoh, they swung north to pay a visit to a peculiar set of ancient doors near the Tabantha Snowfield, after which they would head straight to Death Mountain. They left their horses at the Snowfield stable early in the morning and made a day trip to the Kopeeki Drifts where a set of monumental doors stood incongruously in the side of the mountain. There wasn’t much to see, and Zelda wasn’t surprised when the doors failed to open for her before it was time to head back toward the stable.

They were nearing the mouth of the Drifts when a blizzard blew up out of nowhere. One minute the sky was clear, the next minute they were huddling together in the center of a vortex of impenetrable white. They were warmly dressed and supplied with food for a couple days, but the icy storm made it impossible for them to find their way out. Link took Zelda’s hand and pulled her to a rocky escarpment that blocked some of the wind, and the two of them scraped and dug the chest-deep snow beneath the overhang into a kind of enclosure that mostly protected them from the pummeling weather. Zelda was exhausted long before Link was, and sat for a while to catch her breath while he went on working. He used the shield on his back as a shovel to pack the snow into place, widening their cramped den, carving out apertures to let in fresh air. There wasn’t much room to move around; Zelda tried to make herself as small as possible, but Link still kept tripping over her.

What little light the storm had left them diminished rapidly as Link dug them in. Zelda lit her little rock-oil lamp so that he could have light to see by. While he made adjustments to their quarters, Zelda compiled her notes on the doors in Kopeeki— not much to report there, just another impenetrable ruin. Her eyes grew heavy, her limbs pleasantly warm and lazy after their heavy labor in the snow. She drifted off to sleep before she was even aware of lying down.

Zelda woke with a start, limbs cramped and senses unnerved by the pressing black silence around her.

“Link?” she gasped, groping out blindly with both hands. “Link, where are you?” One of her hands slapped unexpectedly against a slightly chilled ear and cheek, and a low grunt of startlement reached her.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, laughing a little at her own panic. “Is the storm over?” 

“For now,” said Link. His voice sounded muted and very close, dampened by the weight of snow around them. “It’s only biding; it’ll come back harder before it clears for good. No sun to give us bearings, either.”

“Oh, dear,” Zelda fretted. “This is my doing. I just _had_ to see the Kopeeki structure—”

“You may be a genius,” said Link drily, “but you didn’t invent the weather. It’s not your fault. We’ll just have to wait it out.”

“How long?”

“Hours. Days. Not more than a week.”

“A _week?_ ” The thick acoustics of their little den swallowed her shriek of dismay.

But Link was not worried. “These storms don’t often last longer than that. I’ve left us several breathing-holes, but we’ll have to clear them regularly. We’ll sleep in shifts, so we’re not snowed in unawares. If this calm holds, I’ll see about shooting us some meat. I’ll modify our lantern so we can use it as a camp stove; we’ve got oil enough to last a week if we’re careful.”

“You know an awful lot about surviving in a blizzard. Have you traveled much in Hebra, before?”

“I learned it from a book,” said Link. “Believe it or not, Princess, I can both read _and_ write.”

Zelda blessed the dark that hid her blush.

***

During a lull in the storm their second day in the burrow, Link climbed out through one of the holes he’d left up where the wall of snow met the lip of the rocky overhang. Zelda waited anxiously for his return, standing on tip-toes to peer out through the hole in the snow for what felt like hours. She sipped from her water-skin, but had no appetite for the traveler’s bread and dried fish in her pack. Once or twice she wormed her way out of the hole in the snow to relieve herself, brushing clean snow over soiled before climbing back into the warmth of the snow cave. A few worrying flakes were beginning to blow in, clinging to her eyelashes and melting on her cheeks, when the most welcome sight in the world appeared in the window:

Link was back, and he’d brought an elk. Well, part of an elk, anyway. The good part.

“I thought of dragging the whole animal over, but I didn’t want to risk attracting predators. This is just the gourmet cuts off the haunches and rump. And I found a tree felled by the wind, so we can have a real fire.” 

Zelda piled the meat on an icy ledge Link had carved into the snow wall and covered them with a korok leaf. She stacked the bundles of roughly-chopped wood he handed her in a corner. Then he wiggled through the opening himself, feet first.

He built up a small fire in the middle of the burrow while Zelda cut their meat into stew-sized chunks and tossed them in Link’s upturned metal shield. This they propped over the fire, adding snow which soon melted to make a merrily bubbling broth. Link rifled through their bags and produced some dried hot peppers, rock salt, and a few handfuls of Hylian rice. The fire warmed the little chamber so rapidly that Zelda could finally take off her heavy fur-lined outer garments— though she was grateful for the spicy aroma of dinner that masked the smell of her unbathed body.

By the time the meat and rice had cooked through Zelda was so hungry she could have eaten the elk’s antlers. They dug in with violent appetites, spooning their dinner straight from the upturned shield. The tender meat dissolved against Zelda’s tongue. The spice from the peppers tickled her nose and warmed her down to her bones. The rice had absorbed every drop of the rich broth, thickening into a savory porridge.

“I didn’t think I was so hungry,” Zelda said, laughing a little at her own gluttony.

“It’s the cold,” explained Link around a bulging mouthful. “We’ll have to eat to keep warm.”

“This is the most delicious meal I’ve ever eaten in my life,” Zelda enthused, only half-joking. “I knew you were a good cook, but…”

“My father says hunger is the best salt,” mumbled Link, deflecting; but his ears and the tips of his nose turned pink in the firelight.

When they had eaten their fill, they spooned their leftover porridge onto a korok leaf to keep. Zelda filled the shield with more snow, then scraped and scrubbed it clean and leaned it against the rock wall to dry. Link lay down in his fur cloak and fell promptly asleep. Zelda made sure the air-holes were clear of the snow that was falling thicker and faster than before, then settled down to look over her notes in the comfortably flickering firelight.

***

There was no way to know how time was passing outside. There was very little to do in their burrow, which would have been dwarfed by a mouse’s hideout. Zelda could only edit her notebooks so many times before she lost her mind. She wrote a few diary entries, but there wasn’t much to account for: they slept in turns, they reheated their leftover stew or cooked their stock of elk-meat with whatever other ingredients they had on hand. They climbed outside to relieve themselves whenever the snow let up for a few minutes or an hour, wriggling through the air-holes which became more and more like air-tunnels as they continually filled in and were dug out. They would gaze at the sky hopefully, searching for signs that the storm cycle was reaching its end, but each time a new assault soon sent them scrambling for safety. 

At times Link was comparatively talkative; at others he was uniformly taciturn. Zelda found that he opened up more when the subject touched on survival skills like hunting, shelter-building and cooking. If she got him to talk while he was eating, he could be downright chatty. 

“I used to be a mediocre cook,” he told her one day as they sat tearing into the kebabs he’d grilled on the open fire. The meat was perfectly seasoned and crispy at the corners, spaced apart on the sticks with juicy quarters of Hylian mushrooms. “Then one summer my sister went on a cooking spree and made me help her in the kitchen. She can make anything. Cakes and bread and souffles, all the fussy dishes. She makes candy out of courser bee honey, too.”

“I’ve never had courser honey,” said Zelda. Castle desserts were sweetened with cane sugar.

“You don’t know what you’re missing,” he enthused. “It’s not as sweet as sugar, and it has a sharp edge to it. Boil it down to hard candy and it’ll make you forget how tired you are. Better than a stamina potion. Then there’s glazed carrots. When I was eleven I took it into my head to cross the Gerudo Desert by myself. I didn’t know much about sand travel, and I couldn’t have found ground water to save my life. When I wandered into a storm I thought I was a goner, but somewhere in the middle of all that stinging sand I found an enormous skeleton, and it had endura carrots growing all around its ribcage. I built a fire out of scrub in the lee of its skull and cooked every carrot I could find. I had nothing to cook it with, and I can’t say it tasted very good, but one bite of that orange mush and I was springing across the desert. Every time I thought of slowing down I had another bite and off I went. I was back to civilization in a third of the time it took me to get out.”

“I didn’t even know there was a leviathan skeleton in Gerudo,” marveled Zelda.

“I don’t think many people know about it. It’s in the eye of a storm; I couldn’t tell up from down or east from west. There was one of those fairy fountains there, too. Only that one’s all run-down and closed up. It looks like a dry old seedpod.”

“That’s what happens to Great Fairy Fountains when no one prays at them for a long time,” explained Zelda. “No one knows why. The old stories tell of beautiful giantesses who live in their depths and come out to bestow blessings on their most favored devotees, but as far as I know that’s just old wives’ tales.”

“ _Someone’s_ in there,” said Link casually. “I heard them at the bottom of that one in Tabantha.”

Zelda blinked at him in surprise. “You heard someone? A Great Fairy talked to you?”

“Not _talked_ ,” he clarified. “But someone was in there snoring loud enough to bring down the mountain. You didn’t hear it?”

Zelda shook her head slowly. “I don’t think I’m the kind of person who hears voices,” she said, but not mockingly. For once, she felt a little let down.

“Well, how would you, if you don’t even believe the voices are there to hear?” said Link very reasonably. “Would you want to go around jawing at someone who thinks you’re just an old wives’ tale? Would you talk to someone you know wouldn’t listen?”

“I talk to _you_ all the time,” said Zelda, laughing a little. “Or _at_ you, more like. You can’t tell me you always listen to every word I say.”

“Sure I do,” said Link. 

A warm flush crept up Zelda’s neck, but Link didn’t notice her discomfiture. He was dotting dried apple slices with the last of the goat butter they’d brought from the stable, stewing them over the fire for dessert.

“My father told me of a place called Melanya Spring, under the Ibara Butte in the Faron Grasslands,” he said, stirring the apples so they wouldn’t stick to the bottom of the upturned shield. “But instead of a giantess, it’s a god who can bring horses back from the dead. I don’t know if it’s true or not, but I always wanted to go there. Show my face, you know, put in an early word. In case anything ever happens to Epona.”

Zelda regarded him thoughtfully. Before meeting Link, she’d thought she had a close friendship with her white stallion Storm. But the bond he shared with his chestnut mare was on another plane entirely. When he found a tree laden with red apples, he gave one to Epona before he ate any himself— Link, who could eat a whole roast rhino leg and still have room for dessert! He always curried her himself, even though the service was provided by perfectly qualified hands at every stable across Hyrule. He talked to her more than he talked to Zelda, often patting her and making low noises to soothe her when she was out of sorts. And he had a special three-note tune he whistled that was meant for Epona alone. If she heard that whistle, she would come running no matter how great the distance between them.

Zelda suddenly felt very lonely.

“Why don’t we go to Melanya’s Spring together?” she suggested suddenly. 

Link looked up at her, eyebrows raised. “What, with everything else you have to do? No, I’ll go after all this is over.”

“But who knows how long that will take? We have to go to Goron City first, but why don’t we pay a visit to the Faron Grasslands after that?”

“I don’t want to distract you from your work,” he demurred. 

“Nonsense. It’s my royal duty to pray at _every_ holy spring in Hyrule, didn’t you know?”

Link nodded once. Their dessert of hot buttered apples now ready, the subject was allowed to pass.

***

On what Zelda gauged to be their third day in the dugout, Link deemed it safe enough to chance a longer excursion out, though he insisted Zelda remain behind. He returned half an hour later bearing treasure: a hearty white truffle as big and dense as his fist. He sliced it thinly and sauteed it in fat from their elk, then served it with the last of their rice. The earthy, aromatic dish filled Zelda up like a hot toddy, easing the permanent cramp in her legs from so much sitting still, chasing away the aches from sleeping on the stony ground with nothing but her cloak for a bed. Cooking the mushroom used up the last of their firewood; they would have to live on leftovers reheated over the oil-lamp, or risk going out for more wood.

As the exits became more deeply encased in snow, and their supplies for making light went into tighter rationing, the darkness became oppressive. The only way to combat it was to become unconscious— which Zelda could only do for so many hours in a day— or to talk through it. She explained her research to Link in diligent detail. She told him about Père, and Maman, and Urbosa. She speculated about the Calamity.

She asked him about his family, his friends, his opinions on what the Calamity would turn out to be _really_. Sometimes he answered. But Link was not, apparently, so prone to wax loquacious without the encouragement of a glowing fire and a hot meal. 

Though they still had enough to eat, they had only a limited store of spicy peppers. When the last of the wood was burnt, and the last of the spicy peppers were eaten, it became harder to keep warm, especially since they weren’t moving around. They could thaw their food over the lantern’s bright flame, but they couldn’t afford the oil it would take to get their food really hot, so they ate a lot of tepid leftovers. Link never seemed to feel the cold; she could sense where he was even in pitch blackness, because the ambient temperature near him was always a few degrees warmer. Not to be outdone, she willed her teeth not to chatter and her limbs not to tremble. When she answered the call of nature, Zelda would force her listless feet to shamble in circles until she was a little warmer. Then it was back down into the burrow.

On the seventh day, their oil gave out. Deprived of the few moments of golden light it would have provided, Zelda’s mind began to wander a dark path. Had she already frozen to death, had the Calamity already come, was the end already here? She went out to make water in the lead-tinged dusk. Staring grimly at the yellow spot, it occurred to her that without a heat source they couldn’t melt snow for drinking water, or thaw their food.

She wriggled back inside and curled up miserably against the rockface.

***

Zelda struggled out of a twilight of half-sleep.

“Open your eyes,” Link commanded. She got the impression he had been saying this for some time. “Open your eyes. Wake up, Zelda.”

“Why?” What difference did it make if they were open or closed? 

“You’ve been too cold for too long,” he muttered. “I should have realized— ”

“‘S not your fault,” she mumbled stiffly. Her words came out slurred and clumsy.

Link briefly touched her cheek, her hands, the pulse beating sluggishly at her throat. With a sharp intake of breath, he went into sudden motion, unfastening her cloak and slipping it off her shoulders, deftly unlacing the heavy woollen tunic and lifting it over her head. Alarmingly, she didn’t feel much colder in just her trousers and linen chemise.

“How is that s’posed to help?” she protested, but she couldn’t muster the coordination to defy him. Then a warm weight descended on her, smelling of woodsmoke and fur and boy.

“‘S your cloak,” she said. “You need it."

Instead of answering, Link shed his own tunic and pulled Zelda into his lap. He stripped off her chemise and pressed his naked chest against her back, skin to skin, as much contact as possible. 

“It burns,” she said, trying to push away from the sudden awful heat of him; but his arms only tightened around her.

“I know.” He tucked his face against her neck, breathing warmth and life down her spine. “I’m sorry. This will hurt.” 

The heat blazed through her, flaying her nerves, setting her limbs on fire. The cold had been preferable. They sat like that for a long time, so long that Zelda began to wander back and forth across the boundary of consciousness. She dreamed that she was burning up in the heart of Death Mountain; she dreamed that she was floundering against the inexorable pull of the bottomless bogs of Dragonbone Mire; she dreamed that she was lost in the Great Hyrule Forest, trickster spirits chittering mockery in her ears.

Then she dreamed nothing for a long, long while. When she woke at last, she glowed with warmth. She lay on her side, cozy in a nest of discarded clothes. Behind her, pressed full-length against her back, her sworn knight gently snored.

If she was not badly mistaken, Link had just rescued her from hypothermia.

“First the Yiga, now this,” she said to herself. “I never used to require so much saving.”

“Yes you did,” he mumbled sleepily against her bare shoulder. His arms snaked reflexively around her waist, and Zelda let him pull her closer, luxuriating. She sensed that something was different, some shift had taken place in their little burrow. She could not put her finger on what, and she felt too lazy to investigate further. She settled her backside more snugly into the crook of Link’s hips, and went back to sleep herself. When she woke again a little while later, she knew without thinking what was different.

The storm had passed.

A ray of crystalline light beamed in through their one remaining air-hole, sharp-edged as a Guardian’s laser. There was no distant roar of wind and snow, no flurry of errant flakes down the tunnel. Somewhere out there, it was morning.

Zelda twisted out of Link’s arms and turned to shake him awake, but she was momentarily arrested by the sight of his sleeping face lit by their first sun in a week. She had seen him asleep before, of course. But she had never seen him like this, his serious features free of strain and care and worry, the corners of his lips turned up. It was the closest he’d ever come to smiling at her.

His eyes opened, blinked once, and fixed on the stream of light above their heads.

“Storm’s over,” he said stickily. His gaze fell on Zelda, and he sat up quickly. “Can you move everything?”

“Yes,” laughed Zelda. She felt giddy. And confused. And _hungry_.

“Fingers? Toes? Wiggle everything for me.”

Zelda wiggled her appendages obediently. “A little clumsy,” she admitted. “But everything still works.”

He nodded once and bounded to his feet, for all the world like he hadn’t been passed out cold a minute before. He untangled his woollen tunic from their bedding and put it on, politely ignoring Zelda’s nudity. She sighed a little and pulled her clothes on, too.

They packed their things, donned their cloaks, and crawled out into the sun.


	6. Spring of the Horse God

After their ordeal in Kopeeki, Link insisted they travel slowly. They made it to the Snowfield Stable just after sundown, both of them exhausted from a day of travel on short rations and diminished strength. Zelda paid for a hot meal for them both, as well as the two softest beds at the inn. Link went right away to check on Epona, and didn’t come back until the food was ready.

After that they continued due east, picking their way through the foothills of the various mountain ranges and camping under trees, in natural caves, or under the stars. Link hunted and fished and foraged for them as they went, and they were never cold or hungry for very long. Gradually, strength came back into Zelda’s taxed limbs.

They made it to Goron City in ten days, sweating in the heat despite the cooling elixirs they sipped at frequently. Daruk’s control of Var Rudania was hardly to be believed— the pair moved like a single, united being. This time, Zelda observed Daruk’s success with unmixed joy and pride. 

There were less pleasurable things to be discussed, as well.

“Demons are oozin’ out of the ground like pahoehoe,” Daruk informed the princess grimly. “Just the other day, Rudy fired off her first shot. Nailed a gang of bokoblins who were makin’ moves for Gorko Tunnel. And my scouts tell me there was a lynel sighted on the north shore of Goronbi Lake. A lynel! This ain’t grazin’ territory, buddy!”

“Have there been any attacks?” asked Zelda. “Or are they merely building their numbers?”

“So far, no casualties— on our side,” he added proudly. “But a Goron child did get sucked in by a rock octorok last week. Punched her way out from the belly of the beast. She wears the octorok’s eyeball on a chain around her neck. Makes her quite popular in the schoolyard.”

“Well, worse than that will be on its way soon, I’m afraid,” said Zelda. “You’d better pursue tighter security measures for your people. It’s worse at night, and worse off the paths. And please keep me informed if anything new appears.”

Daruk ordered a team of Goron warriers to escort Zelda and Link back down to the foothills. They skirted Goronbi Lake’s southern tip, hoping to avoid a run-in with a lynel. 

In Eldin Canyon, their luck ran out. It wasn’t just one lynel prowling Death Mountain’s southwestern flank. It was three, and they’d brought bokoblins.

Link had thrust Zelda into the massive arms of the big Goron Lorduk before she even saw him move. Lorduk curled into a ball around her, his rocky skin crackling with protective energy, while Link and the other Gorons engaged the enemy. Zelda crouched under her living shield and tried to see as much of the battle as she could.

Half a dozen bokoblins occupied the bulk of the Goron defenders, while the two strongest attempted to engage two of the lynels. They didn’t land any blows, but they did keep the enormous creatures from ganging up on Link while he fought single-handed against the most vicious, muscular white-maned lynel Zelda had ever seen. He dodged the heavy iron blade which must have weighed twice as much as he did himself, parrying again and again with the Master Sword. Finally he leapt onto the lynel’s back, looking like nothing so much as a flea hitching a ride on a housecat. He slashed his foe through the spine and was engaging its brother before it even hit the ground.

Between Link and the Gorons, the enemy were defeated with very little injury to their own. Once the dust had settled, Lorduk released Zelda and joined his brothers in hauling the carcasses into a pile to be burned. Zelda went at once to check on Link, trying to ignore the reek of lynel guts sizzling on the hot ground.

Link had sustained shockingly few injuries— just a burn that twisted around his left forearm from elbow to wrist. It was already blistering. Link must have been in considerable pain, but he didn’t say a word, not even when Zelda dabbed it with a healing ointment that she knew from experience felt like knife blades on a burn.

“That burn didn’t penetrate too deep, thank the Goddess,” she said in relief. “This is all I can do for you, but it should be enough for now.” She wrapped the burn loosely in gauze, to protect it from ash and grit. “You know, there is a fine line between courage and recklessness,” she couldn’t help adding. “Bravery does not make you immortal.” 

She didn’t mean to scold, but he’d taken on three lynels. Three! One was too many! Why hadn’t he run away and let Vah Rudania blast the marauders from a safe distance? 

“It seems that, not only are these attacks multiplying, but the scale of beasts grows daily. It can only be an omen of the approaching Calamity— whatever form it will take. And if that’s the case, I’m ready to expect the worst. We’ll need to make preparations as soon as possible.” She stood, brushing red dust from her rear and leading the way back onto the path. They bade farewell to their Goron escorts, and hurried west.

***

Zelda made her report to King Rhoam in as few words as possible. When he questioned her about her whereabouts in the weeks before her sojourn on Death Mountain, she told him she’d been caught in a snowstorm between Rito Village and Goron City.

“There are no snowstorms near Rito,” he said sternly. “You were dilly-dallying in Hebra. Don’t lie to me, child.”

“Who's lying?” said Zelda hotly. “I _was_ in Hebra. It wasn’t far out of our way, and there was a peculiar piece of architecture I thought I should look at—”

“Not out of your way? _Hebra?_ ” barked the king with a scornful laugh. “You read a map nearly as well as you pray to the Goddess Hylia! You’d have made better time cutting through central Hyrule. You’re wasting time, child, chasing old ruins and foolish notions.”

“Whoever is behind the oncoming Calamity, it will have to come from _somewhere_ ,” Zelda shot back. Kneeling behind her, Link shifted uneasily. “You don’t think a mysterious door to nowhere might be a useful thing to keep watch on? Even your beloved Ganon cannot materialize from nothing—”

But she had gone too far.

“Don’t you blaspheme to _me_!” roared King Rhoam, looming over Zelda. She didn’t know if he meant to hit her, but she didn’t care if he did. Zelda jutted her chin out and glared at her father, daring him to dishonor himself in front of his precious Hero of Hyrule.

But before King Rhoam could so much as raise his hand, Link had interposed himself between them, moving as swiftly as he had against bokoblins, lynels, Yiga. He knelt facing the king, neck bent, the perfect picture of submission. King Rhoam gaped at the knight he’d forgotten was there. Zelda stared down at the back of Link’s head. She couldn’t see his face, but she knew what expression it wore. The fight went out of her all at once. Her father’s blustering ceased instantly to matter.

“Forgive me, Père,” she said, bowing her head, acquiescent. “I didn’t think we would be detained so long. Perhaps it was too great a risk.”

King Rhoam seemed taken aback at her subordination, but willing to be mollified. “I accept your apology,” he said, the angry flush fading from his face. “What are you doing to further your intimacy with the Goddess? ‘A drop of sweat will save a river of blood.’ Prove to me that you are trying, and I will look past all of this… _distraction_.”

“I prayed at the Spring of Power just last year.”

“And the Spring of Courage?”

“I...I don’t remember.”

“Your laxness is unpardonable. You must return to the holy Springs. Visit them in turn. As soon as you turn seventeen, you must add the Spring of Wisdom to the rotation. When you fail at one Spring, you will move on to the next. Familiarity will plant the seeds of true receptivity in your heart. Until you have made real strides toward awakening your power, you must put aside these childish hobbies. That means no more detours to visit old Sheikah structures. Hero of Hyrule, I want _you_ to make sure she follows my orders. Remember who is the king, and who is only the daughter of the king.” He turned his back and strode away.

Zelda went out. Link caught up with her, walking beside her out into the noonday sun. He didn’t say anything, but he looked at her with such frank compassion that Zelda had to mistake it for pity or else she would scream.

“Don’t you dare feel sorry for me,” she commanded haughtily. “I suppose you think I shouldn’t have provoked him?”

“You’ll do what you will do,” he said, bowing his head. Then, glancing at her from the corner of his eye, “And what _will_ you do?”

“Whatever do you mean?” said Zelda sweetly. “You heard the king. He wants me to go pray at the holy Springs. And he wants _you_ to make sure I am a good little girl who does as she is told. It seems to me we have no choice but to do as he dictates. Come on, Hero of Hyrule. Let us begin preparations at once. I want to get the Sheikah Slate back from Purah before we go.”

***

The weather held fair and fine for days. They passed through Irch Plain the first morning, testing out some of the improvements Purah had made to the Slate. Zelda even spotted a silent princess, a rare blue-and-white blossom which had yet to be successfully domesticated. She had never seen one in person before, only read about them in botany texts. It was brilliant in the sunshine and had a fleeting aroma that fell somewhere between jasmine, lemongrass, and running water. She found a hotfoot frog, too, and teasingly offered it to Link for an informal study of its effects; but he recoiled, unwilling to be a test subject for a raw frog-tasting.

They spent that night at the Exchange, then crossed the Bridge of Hylia at sunrise on their third day. But when they reached the first fork in Finra Woods, Zelda took the road leading south. Link drew Epona up beside Storm and looked at Zelda curiously.

“The Spring of Courage is north,” he pointed out.

“So it is,” agreed Zelda complacently. “We aren’t going to the Spring of Courage. Well, we are. But not yet. There’s another spring we must visit first.” She eyed Link surreptitiously.

“You mean Melanya’s Spring.” He stroked Epona’s neck, looking conflicted.

“Technically, it _is_ a holy spring. His Majesty should have no cause to complain.”

“But you know it’s not what he meant when he said to make a pilgrimage.” He paused uncertainly. “You’re doing this because of me, aren’t you?”

“So what if I am?”

“I don’t want you to get in trouble on my account.”

Zelda couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh, Père will scold me no matter what I do. I long ago gave up trying to please him. I would rather be a stone in his boot than a jewel in his crown. At least the stone knows where it stands. And _I_ know where I stand with him, and I know how to make him do what I want. Why else do you think I persuaded him to send us to Faron?”

When Link still looked torn, Zelda added, “It’s only a short trip from Highland Stable. We’ll be back on our royally-sanctioned path to nowhere with no more than a day or two lost. Anyway, how will he ever know? Are _you_ going to tell him?” 

“Of course not!” He looked so hurt that Zelda resolved never to tease him in that way again. 

Having accepted that Zelda’s mind was made up, Link at once ceased to dwell on it. That was his way, she’d noticed. He lived with a single-mindedness that she could not help but envy. When he ate, he ate voraciously. When he lay down to sleep, he slept at once, without the hours of wakefulness that so frequently disturbed Zelda’s nights. The times when she had seen him fight, she had been impressed, of course, by his agility, strength and skill. But what set him apart from even the most elite knights of the Royal Guard was his relentlessness. He never stumbled, never faltered, never hesitated. He calculated each movement with an almost mystical infallibility, and reacted faster than thinking. Once he had decided to do a thing, he did it, and did it completely. When it was done, he ceased to think of it.

If Link’s attention was all for the present, Zelda’s was much more divided. Purah’s sister Impa had once described the princess as keeping one eye on the ground and one eye on the sky, and it was true. Thoughts of every kind and quality wheeled like keese through Zelda’s mind. She thrilled over advances in her research, fretted over troubling reports of increased monster activity, struggled to piece together the puzzle of the oncoming Calamity. King Rhoam took up a small but persistent corner of her brain. It usually took several days for encounters with him to lose their sharp edges. Her tendency to overthink didn’t help, either: she replayed his barbs over and over, reliving them with ruthless clarity, cutting herself on them for days and months and years afterward.

Strangely, though, this last meeting with the king possessed no power to sting her. When she thought of it, it was not to dwell on her father’s insults and accusations; it was to remember Link kneeling between her and the king, wordless, humble, immovable. She turned the memory of it over in her mind. She could not get a grip on it, any more than she could lay it down.

But something of Link’s pragmatism must be rubbing off on her, for Zelda found herself, despite her thoughts, enjoying their ride across Faron. They reached the Highland Stable in mid-afternoon, after a comparatively short day’s riding. With a burst of playful energy, Link turned Epona onto a track laid over the parade ground in front of the stable. The track was littered with hurdles of varying heights, in confusing configurations. Horse and rider both tossed their heads with one accord and some secret agreement seemed to pass between them. Zelda shook her head, laughing, and went to pay for a night’s shelter for the four of them. 

“That’s a hundred and twenty rupees for one bunk and two stalls, then,” said the stableman, holding out his hand for payment. Zelda looked at the man’s hand, not understanding. 

“Two bunks,” Zelda said. “I want— that, is, we’ll be in separate beds.”

“Yes, but your young man over there just cleared every hurdle in under a minute and a half, so his bed’s on the house.”

“Oh.” Zelda handed over the money, her cheeks coloring. Behind her, Link rode up disheveled and victorious, even bearing a bird he’d shot between hurdles.

That night they cooked at one of the communal cookpots, frying their plucked bird with rice, root vegetables, ground spices and a golden-yolked egg. The scent of it attracted other guests of the stable, and they ended up sharing their supper with a man and his young daughter who were traveling to Lolon Ranch in Central Hyrule, in search of work.

“Too many ranchers in Darybon Plains,” the man Runyo explained. “I’m ready to take my talents where they’re worth something.”

“Did you really jump over all the little fences?” his daughter Mala asked Link, wide-eyed in admiration. 

But Link was modest. “My horse Epona did all the jumping. All I had to do was stay on her back.”

In thanks for the hot meal and an evening of conversation, Runyo gifted Link and Zelda with a dusty little bottle of stealth elixir. “Good for mounting a horse that doesn’t want to be mounted,” he said. “But be careful, because it won’t cushion you if you let yourself be thrown.”

“We’ll look for you next time we pass by Lolon Ranch,” promised Zelda. “Good luck.”

“Safe travels to yourself, your Highness.”

***

They rose before the sun, refreshed and eager to be on their way. It was not without a touch of grim humor that Zelda realized this was the first time in her life she had ever been excited to visit a holy spring.

And she _was_ excited. The day seemed beautiful and full of promise. There was something so… so _pure_ about riding into the fine light of day, watching the morning mist clear. Beside her, Link directed Epona not with reins, which he had looped loosely over the pommel, but with gentle nudges from his knees. His hands rested on his thighs, the fingers relaxed and unfidgeting, and his eyes roved from rock to stream to sky.

They reached the spring at mid-morning, Epona’s and Storm’s hooves clopping hollowly over the Horse God Bridge that separated the spring from mortal roads. The spring looked very like the fairy fountains Zelda was used to, but instead of an otherworldy light, the grotto emanated thick heliotrope mist. Link rode Epona all the way to the spring. He dismounted and fell to his knees before the watery shrine, placing his hands on the edge of the pool and leaning over it. Epona bent too, snuffling at his shirt and hair.

Zelda had hung back with Storm. But after a while Link turned and beckoned her closer.

“Anything in there?” she asked— curiously, not mockingly.

“Why don’t you check for yourself?” said Link, which wasn’t an answer. 

“You know I never find anything.”

“That’s all right,” said Link easily. “It’s nice just to look into the water. It goes down forever.” He made room for Zelda beside him. She knelt and gazed into the pool. He was right, it _was_ enchanting, the water so clear that it seemed to be made of something closer to air. When she touched it, it felt thinner than normal water, and dried quickly. The surface shimmered like carnival glass.

“I almost want to taste it,” she said wonderingly. 

She hadn’t even finished the sentence before Link was dipping his hands in the pool and drinking from the cupped palms. Springwater streamed down his forearms and dripped from his elbows. When he had drunk his fill, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and sat back on his feet

“Verdict?” prompted Zelda.

Instead of answering, he dipped his hands in the spring one more time and offered her a drink. Without quite knowing why she did— after he’d spurned her frog, no less!— Zelda bent her head and drank from Link’s hands.

The water had no taste at all, but it filled her nostrils with a hundred heady scents: grass, horseflesh, hay, smoke, rain, manure, dust, blood, wind. A sense of unbridled movement rushed through her and she felt her stomach drop, or possibly disappear altogether. Then Link took his hands away and she felt ordinary again.

“Oh, my,” she said faintly.

Now Link stood and helped Zelda to her feet. He led Epona to the water’s edge and let her drink thirstily. After blowing at the water politely, Storm did too. If it did anything for them besides quench their equine thirst, Zelda could not tell.

Link and Zelda went back over the bridge to take their midday meal of bread stuffed with meat and vegetables. With one last long look toward the spring, they rode back toward the stable

“It’s really something,” Zelda mused, “the way you and Epona move together.”

“We’re used to each other.”

“It’s more than that. She’s devoted to you.”

Link stroked her neck affectionately. “Epona’s a sweet girl,” he said fondly. “I couldn’t ask for a better friend.”

“Do you think I could ever win over Storm as completely as you’ve won Epona?”

Link looked thoughtfully at Zelda’s white stallion. “It’s possible. Your temperaments are so similar. But it won’t be easy, because you’re holding each other at arm’s length. If you really want to be friends with Storm, you’ll have to earn it. You have to take the time to soothe your mount. Talk to him. Spend time with him even when you’re not asking him to do anything for you. That’s the only way he’ll know you really care for him.”

“Link? Did anyone speak to you from the bottom of the spring?”

“No. You?”

“Are you disappointed?”

Link shook his head. “I asked the horse god to protect Epona. I wasn’t looking for an answer.”

“That water was...it wasn’t quite water, was it?”

“No. It wasn’t quite water.”

Among Castle folk, the most flattering term ever applied to worshipers of the horse god was “rustic”. But that humble little pool in the middle of nowhere had felt— if not sacred, then at least otherworldy. It had felt expansive; it had made Zelda feel expansive. She could believe that _something_ dwelled there, even if she didn’t know what it was, or how interested in the affairs of humans.

***

They were back under cover of trees by midmorning the next day. Zelda missed the sky, which seemed much vaster on the sun-baked Fural Plain. It was close and humid in the Damel Forest where they stopped for lunch. After satisfying their hunger with smoked trout and voltfruit chips, Zelda clambered up into the crumbling ruins of the long-dead Zonai culture to take rubbings of the text carved into the stones. Link rooted around in the lush undergrowth and produced a ruby-colored radish the size of his head, which he cracked in half and split between the horses.

All parties thus revived, they continued toward the Spring of Courage. It was slow going, the ground soft and marshy in places, or treacherous with hidden tree-roots. The heavy air crackled with static energy, barely neutralized by the effects of the voltfruit. Through the trees, Zelda caught glimpses of yellow Keese and bouncing puddles of electric Chuchu. There hadn’t been nearly so many the last time she’d been in Damel. She hoped there was nothing worse in these woods.

They reached the heart of Zonai just as the light was fading. Link strung a rubber sheet between the forelimbs of a monumental stone dragon, creating a shelter impervious to static electricity. Zelda collected firewood from the immediate surroundings, though she was continually distracted by details of the surrounding architecture. She had always been more fascinated by the ancient remains than by the much newer Goddess statue at their heart. Their mystery appealed to her. Their scale awed her. Their antiquity and the lack of a written record defied her from beyond time itself, a challenge she was longing to overcome.

“Who do you think built these?” she asked Link, returning to their site with an armload of scavenged branches. He methodically laid a fire before the open end of their shockproof shelter, adding handfuls of certain grasses and leaves once it had caught so that it blanketed their campsite in a fine white smoke to keep insects at bay.

For a time she didn’t think he heard her. Then he said, “Someone who loved dragons.”

“A rational supposition,” conceded Zelda. 

Neither of them felt much like a hot meal in that muggy jungle, so they dined on cold zapshroom empanadas they’d brought with them from the Highland Stable. Link spread a bed of bouncy fronds and covered it with korok leaves. The shockproof sheet that formed their roof was not overlarge; to make it easier for both of them to fit entirely under its protection, Link sat up, propped against one of the dragon’s talons.

“I’ll never know how you can sleep sitting up like that," Zelda commented. "Doesn’t it hurt your neck?”

“Only if I slump.”

“Which you would never do.” She sighed. “Even your sleep is disciplined.”

Link shrugged, rested his head against a particularly mossy patch of claw, and closed his eyes. Zelda lay down beside him, head resting on her arm, uncomfortably scrunched. Link patiently endured several minutes of her squirming before cracking one eye to peer down at her.

“Stop that,” he commanded. “Just use my leg.” 

Zelda rested her head on his thigh and found it, indeed, more comfortable than her arm, if a little too muscular for true ergonomy. 

“Link?”

“Mm?”

“Do you really believe in the horse god?”

“I’m willing to believe in anyone who might protect the people I love. Even a horse god.” 

“But what if you’re wrong? What if none of the gods are real?”

“I don’t mind being wrong,” he said. “Although I hope I’m not.” His hand stroked Zelda’s hair absently, as if she were a fractious mount he sought to soothe. It worked, and she drifted off to sleep. 

***

“Goddess Hylia, I don’t know if you’re there, but you might be.” Zelda stood in stillwater up to her hips, surrounded by lily pads. The pool should have been brackish, but wasn’t. Like the rest of Damel Forest the air smelled damply vegetal, with a sharp undertone of ozone.

“If you _are_ there, I…” Zelda trailed off, unsure how to proceed. Any other time she would have called up one of a hundred memorized prayers, but somehow couldn’t bear to just now. She glanced behind her, where Link stood at the water’s edge facing toward the entrance to the Spring. Her white linen shift swirled and clung about her bare legs. She turned back to the Goddess statue, scrunching her toes in the silt that thickly coated the waterlogged stone floor.

“If you’re there, if you’re real, then you know what I’m supposed to be doing here. And you know— you know that I haven’t been doing it. I haven’t tried at all. Maybe it’s too late now. I always supposed that whatever comes for us, we would have to rise against it as humans. It seems defeatist, but it’s not! After all, courage is a human trait, not just a divine one."

Zelda bent to wash her hands in Springwater. She splashed her arms with it, and her face. It felt cool and light and very, very clean.

“If it’s not too late, Goddess— if I haven’t spoiled everything— please tell me what to do next. I thought I knew, but I’m less sure every day. I know I haven’t wanted to listen before. But I’ll try. I’ll try to hear you, if you’re there at all to be heard.”

She stood there for a long time. When her legs grew stiff with standing still, she waded in circles before the statue. She even knelt in the silt and dunked her head, hoping to hear some watery echo. But there was nothing, and eventually she climbed back onto dry rock. Link looked at her curiously, but for once Zelda had nothing to say. She wasn’t sure what she had expected this time. There _was_ a kind of energy here. Maybe it was just the surrounding forest, which literally crackled with electricity. Maybe it was the Goddess, or whoever had lived here before, or her own imagination. But Zelda felt, as she wrung out her soaked chemise and stepped back into her clothes, that the trip had not been wasted, even if she had nothing to show for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your encouraging comments, they make me so so happy!


	7. Deya Village

They found the wooden bridge over the Floria River patrolled by an odd, cackling little imp. It wore white robes and danced around on the air, trailing glitter behind it like some demented korok. When it noticed them, it emitted a shriek of malicious delight and shot a bubble of electricity at them from a wand it held in its clawed hand. Balls of lightning bounced around the party, but the horses were quick enough to sidestep the danger. The imp spun in place and vanished with a pop of light.

“Is it gone?” asked Zelda, rattled. She knew the imp hadn’t been here the day before and couldn’t shake the feeling that its presence was no coincidence, that it had been drawn to them.

Link didn’t answer. He had drawn his wooden bow and was watching the air above their heads, unmoving. When the imp reappeared just above Zelda’s head, he loosed an arrow which pierced it through the eye with such force it was hurled backwards and pinned to a tree. It jerked once and went still.

Link hopped down to fish the imp’s wand out of the stream where it had fallen. He brought it over to show Zelda. It was made of some silvery-green metal, inexpertly twisted into a rod with a glowing power source encaged at the business end. He pointed it away from them, back toward Damel Forest, and gave it a decisive flick. Lightning burst out of it and bounded away through the trees.

“What was that thing?” asked Zelda.

Link turned the wand over and over in his hands. “Daruk told me about a malicious sprite called a wizrobe,” he said. “They carry a wand that calls down meteors. He said they haunt devastated places, but if this place was ever devastated it was a long time ago. And he never mentioned lightning.” 

“So close to the Spring of Courage… They’re growing bold.”

Link threw away the lightning rod in disgust. “Shoddy quality. A few more strikes and it would have broken.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

“Means someone’s churning these out in quantity. Stay close, Princess.”

* * *

By late afternoon the next day, they were back on civilized roads, heading for the Crossroads Inn between the Outpost and East Post Garrisons. The encounter with the wizrobe had set them back, and they were riding steadily to make up lost time. But a fog rolled in off Lake Hylia and settled into the valley between the Great Plateau and Scout’s Hill. Link and Zelda rode for hours through the featureless gray, their traveling cloaks growing more sodden by the minute in that mist which refused either to clear up or to fall as rain. They couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of their noses, and there was no sun to hint at the passage of time. They walked briskly side by side, their knees almost touching, staying close so that they wouldn’t lose each other in the fog. Occasionally, travelers riding in the opposite direction would appear out of the mist in front of them like poes, disappearing just as abruptly.

When they reached Scout’s Hill, Zelda suggested they take their dinner break. They brought their horses under cover of the fort’s outbuildings and went on up to the main hall. It was a small outfit, a mere auxiliary to the larger postings down the road, but there was a dorm with hot food and a lookout tower above. The soldiers posted here were as troubled by the fog as Zelda and Link. 

“Can’t scout if you can’t see out,” said one. 

“Never seen a fog like this, and I’ve been in the Lost Woods,” said another.

Zelda ran her fingers over the Sheikah Slate on her hip. “I don’t know if it will help, but perhaps there’s a fog setting on this contraption. Do you mind if we go up?”

The air was a little clearer at the top of the lookout tower, but not by much. Zelda fiddled with the Slate, adjusting the settings on the picture-taker. She aimed it at the Eastern Abbey, which she knew to be roughly west, but saw only a swirling blank wall. She aimed it at the Bridge of Hylia and found even less. Frustrated, she turned the contrast all the way up and aimed the Slate east, toward Deya Village. She expected again to see nothing, but this time there _was_ something. Faint orange lights penetrated the choking fog, interrupted by darting black shadows.

“What do you think this is?” she asked, tilting the Slate to show Link. He studied the slate, zooming in on one of the flickering orange lights. Zelda could make nothing of the abstract shapes and movements, but Link could. He went rigid.

“Lizalfos,” he said tightly.

“How do you know?” 

“The way the shadows jump. Deya Village is under attack."

The scouts who had accompanied them up the tower went into motion, grabbing a lit torch from the wall and using it to light the alarm beacon.

“It’s no use,” said Zelda. “East Post won’t see it in this fog. They’ll have to be alerted in person.” 

“Zelda,” said Link urgently, “lizalfos are quick. The garrison will be too late.”

“What are you suggesting?”

“Go with the scouts to rouse the East post. Let me go to Deya— right now, this very minute.”

 _If it’s too dangerous for them, it’s too dangerous for you_ , Zelda wanted to say. But she did not even consider voicing the disgraceful thought.

“Go,” she said. “We’ll be right behind you.”

“Keep away from the village. Stay at the East Post with the guards. I’ll find you when it’s done.”

“ _Go_.”

Link snatched a pointed spear and a shield from the wall and strapped them on his back along with his bow and the Master Sword. Zelda stepped out of the way so he could shimmy down the ladder ahead of her, but instead he held his traveling cloak by its four corners, taking a moment to adjust his grip on it. Then, before Zelda could grasp what he meant to do, he flung himself from the tower.

“ _Link!_ ” she bleated, lunging to catch him. But she was too late, and it wasn’t necessary: he was gliding at a steep and erratic angle, his cloak acting as a makeshift parasail, on a collision course with the Hills of Baumer. Zelda watched until he was nothing but a faint smudge in the mist. Then she snapped her Slate back into its case, and hurried down to join the scouts.

They galloped all the way to East Post, covering a two-hour’s distance in less than half the time. Zelda’s nerves crackled all the way. She could not shut her mind up. Had Link lost control of his sail and broken his body on the slopes of Baumer? Had he landed safely, only to be ambushed by his monstrous enemy? Had the villagers rallied, or did they even now lie dying in the streets of their quiet town?

The mist darkened as she rode, and the road grew slick under Storm’s hooves. Barely hanging on, Zelda leaned over Storm’ neck and begged him for a little more speed. She prayed to Hylia for the villagers, for Link. She prayed to the Great Fairies, each by name. She prayed to the horse god.

They reached the East post. Breathless from their sprint, the scouts raised the alarm. In ten minutes a battalion was ready for dispatch.

“Stay here, your Highness,” said the commander of the garrison. “We’ll report back quickly.”

“I will go with you, or I will go alone, behind you. It’s your choice, and you’re wasting time.”

“Your Highness, you have no place in a battle. You will be a distraction.”

Zelda dared delay him no longer.

“Signal the moment the way is safe,” she commanded in her most imperious tones. The commander bowed and his battalion rode away.

The next few hours were agony. Under guard, Zelda went back to the stables and cared for Storm, her heart spilling with tenderness for him at the urgency with which he had carried her here. He had seemed truly to understand the stakes. Zelda fed and watered him, brushing him till he glowed, thanking him again and again. He ate and drank, but seemed restless— longing, perhaps, for Epona, who had necessarily been left behind at Scout’s Hill.

The lieutenant assigned to watch over Zelda tried to persuade her to eat and rest, but she could not. She climbed up the signal tower and strained to make sense of the gloom, but the sun was gone and there was nothing to see. She paced back and forth across the open-walled tower room. She took out the Slate and trained it on Baumer Hills, willing her eyes to see.

Finally the moon rose, and the mist did too. With half the night gone, the fog cleared, and Zelda could make out distant movement and light. She stared at her Slate, searching for a figure in blue, but could discern no such detail. Still she could not help trying.

“The signal,” shouted the lieutenant. “The beacon on Scout’s Hill burns blue. The enemy is ousted. The way is clear.”

That was all Zelda needed to hear. Ignoring her interim bodyguard’s protestations, she raced to the stable and saddled Storm.

“Come with me or don’t,” she barked at the lieutenant, who arrived a minute later looking harried. “But if you’re coming, you’d better hurry up, because I won’t wait.”

She made her second mad dash that night, and thundered into Deya Village just as the sky was beginning to lighten in the east. Dead lizalfos lay in heaps, dragged outside the village borders by grim-faced garrison soldiers. The garrison commander appeared before Zelda to make his report.

Seven dead, many more wounded. No Lizalfos had survived.

“Any civilian casualties?” asked Zelda, fearing the answer.

“Four, Your Highness, mostly in the initial onslaught. It would have been many more if not for the Hero of Hyrule. We would have been too late. By the time we arrived, the tide had already turned.”

“Where is the Hero of Hyrule now?”

“He chased a fleeing band of lizalfos into the hills. He has not returned.”

Zelda was just about to tell the commander to send men after him when Link finally appeared at the edge of the village, carrying a small child in one arm and leading another by the hand. A woman holding an infant walked behind him. Villagers surrounded him in a swarm, hiding him from view. Zelda pushed through the crowd, desperate to lay eyes on him once more, to check him for injury, to assure herself he was truly safe and that she had not sent him to his death.

“Make way for the Princess!” shouted the commander, and the villagers finally noticed Zelda. A clear space opened up between her and Link. His eyes met hers just long enough for her to see the pain etched there. Then he dropped to one knee, his head bowed. Zelda walked toward him. Villagers bowed and curtsied as she made her way to the center of the crowd. She looked in each of their faces as she passed, their looks of fear and hope and sorrow imprinting on her heart. It took as long to reach her sworn knight as it had taken to ride from the Post to the village. 

“Rise, Hero,” said Zelda. Her voice shook. Link stood. Looking at him, his Champion’s tunic soaked through with blood— most of it green, some red— her voice failed her. She could not look at him and speak, so she turned to the crowd. “You have endured a terrible tragedy. Please know that... that I weep with you at the losses you have suffered. The king will learn of this from my own lips, and aid will be sent at once. In the meantime, please accept what supplies I’ve brought in my pack.”

The villagers cheered for the princess who had marked their troubles and ordered their relief. They cheered the garrison that had ridden to their defense. And when they raised a cheer for the Hero of Hyrule, their noise was deafening. Even their dogs barked and howled.

Though he stood on steady feet and his face showed nothing but somber calm, it was plain to Zelda that he was exhausted and heartsore. The village elder, a woman named Abbay, offered Link and Zelda the use of her own house, and they gratefully retreated to the privacy of an upper room. Zelda satisfied herself that Link had suffered no serious injury. Then came the unpleasant but necessary task of taking his report. Zelda sat at Abbay’s desk and picked up a pencil.

“What happened, Link?” she asked. “The commander could not give me many details. What happened before the reinforcements showed up? He reported… he reported four civilians dead.”

“Five,” he said quietly. “Five civilians.” He sat on the edge of Abbay’s bed, hunched over, his forearms resting on his knees. 

“I don’t want to make you speak of it,” said Zelda gently. “But I must make a report to my father. After this we need never— ”

“Three were killed before I landed,” Link said, cutting her off. “The alarm bells were ringing, and most villagers were holed up. The able fought with rocks and fishing spears, trying to bar the lizalfos from the doors and windows of the houses. I counted seventeen lizalfos. Three spat lightning from their mouths. I killed those first.” He tilted his head to look up at Zelda; his face might have been carved from wood, it was so still. “An electric lizalfos shot a bolt of lightning through the window of a house and killed a child. That was the fourth casualty.”

Zelda nodded, trying to show nothing on her face when what she wanted to do was sob, or rage, or break something. Deya was a peaceful town, a floodplain enriched by the cyclical rise and fall of Deya Lake to the south. They had practiced the same simple methods of aquaculture for generations. So close to Scout’s Hill and East Post, they did not even have a security militia. They were defenseless. 

“The lizalfos had set fire to a few houses, forcing people out into the open. A dozen strong men and women defended this group from the remaining lizalfos. I assisted them until reinforcements arrived. In the confusion of the incoming soldiers, one lizalfos broke free and went after a family forced from their home. They panicked and ran for the hills. The lizalfos chased them, and I chased it. I caught up just as it was turning on the mother; the father was already dead. That was the fifth casualty.”

“So the children who were with you when you returned to town? The woman— ?”

Link nodded.

“Are there any other details you can think of?” asked Zelda. He shook his head. Grateful to have this part over, Zelda laid down her pencil. She went over to Link, standing between his knees. He gazed up at her unblinking, trusting her and her alone to witness his misery.

“This should not have happened,” said Zelda softly, her hand on his sweat-soaked hair. “I am sorry, Link.”

“Please make it stop,” he pleaded. “We have to make it stop.”

Zelda’s eyes closed. “We will,” she promised. “I will.”

* * *

They stayed in Deya a few days more. Zelda added her notes to the official report which the commander sent to the king, as well as a request for relief supplies for the village. In the meantime, she dispensed what they had of healing potions among the wounded, and conferred with Abbay and the other elders on the best way to protect the village from future attacks. Wherever she went, Link went, her silent shadow once more. He seemed almost afraid to let the villagers see him show the slightest emotion. He talked so little he might have taken a vow.

Early on the morning of their third day, while making final preparations to depart, the pair were caught out in a rainstorm. They ran for cover under a large tree, sharing their shelter with a trio of stone deities. While Zelda sat on a moss-covered rock to wait out the storm, Link drew the Master Sword and put it through its paces, swinging it in precise formations according to a standard that only he was qualified to judge. He often honed his technique at in-between moments, never willing to waste an opportunity to improve. But there was a new urgency to his movements now, a new determination on his brow. 

“I doubt this will let up anytime soon,” Zelda observed, peering through the curtain of rain. Link sliced raindrops in half with the Sword that Seals the Darkness. He went through the individual motions of combat one by one, then combined them, then repeated them. Like learning a dance. 

But it was a dance he already knew, of course. Was he not the youngest Imperial Knight in Hylian history? Had he not been born of a long line of knights, trained from childhood and sworn to serve the Royal family at the age of sixteen? Link did not often volunteer information about his life before joining the Guard. At first, Zelda had asked him nothing about himself because she did not care; lately, she found she cared rather a lot but was reluctant to pry, sensing that there might be memories he wished to keep private from her too-often impertinent curiosity.

But there were some things that were common knowledge, and they hinted at a tantalizing picture of the boy beneath the surface.

“Your path seems to mirror your father’s,” she remarked. “You dedicated yourself to becoming a knight at a young age. Your commitment to the necessary training is really quite admirable.” Link glanced over at her, wondering why she’d brought this up now. 

“I see now why you were the chosen one.” She looked down at her hands. His circumstances were more like hers than she had ever given him credit for, yet he’d done so much more with them. Zelda was not given to self-doubt, but the assault on Deya had thrown her off her axis. 

“What if one day,” she asked falteringly, “you realized that you just weren’t meant to be a fighter… but the only thing people ever said was that you were born into a family of the royal guard, and so no matter what you thought, you had to become a knight? If that was the only thing you were ever told, I wonder then— could you have chosen a different path?” 

Link had stopped attacking the rain and was looking at her with a mix of compassion and comprehension that felt, somehow, dangerous to her.

“I was lucky,” he said. “I always knew.” He took a dry cloth from a waterproof compartment in his pack and sat down beside Zelda to polish the rain from his sword.

“Even as a child?” she asked.

“I knew when I was three.”

“What happened when you were three?”

“My sister was born.” He said this simply, without any particular show of emotion. But Zelda felt the force of his words like a strong wind.

“When is the last time you saw your family, Link?”

He squinted. “I see my father whenever we go back to the castle. Sometimes Naia’s there, too. The rest of the time she’s with our aunt, in Lurelin Village.”

“You must miss them.”

“Sometimes. But I’m meant to be here. With you.”

“‘Meant to be’? Does this mean you believe in destiny now?”

“No. Not destiny. But I know this is where I can do the most good.”

“So you decided to be a knight before you’d even lost your baby teeth,” summarized Zelda, “and you’ve trained every day since then, and now you’re a sworn knight of the royal household. I know I shouldn’t, but I envy you. You have such a clarity of purpose, and it seems that you succeed in everything you attempt to do.”

“Not everything. If I hadn’t pursued knighthood, I would have become a very unsuccessful fisherman.”

“Not unsuccessful, surely. You catch fish all the time.”

“With bombs.”

“Well then, I suppose it’s a good thing you are not a fisherman. But couldn't you have done something else?”

“Unlikely. If I hadn’t followed my father, I would have followed my mother. Her whole family are fishers.”

“In Lurelin?”

“Mm.” He squinted at the sky. ”Rain’s slackening. If we want to be back at the castle tomorrow, we’d better start now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and reviewing! I know this chapter isn't very light-hearted, but things will cheer up! (And then get really really horrible for a little while but hey that's Calamities for you!)


	8. The Smell of Rain

King Rhoam oozed with compliments for the Hero of Hyrule, insisting upon honoring him in a public ceremony to which all the most important nobles of the realm were invited. Link hated it. Not that he said as much. But it was written all over the polite blankness in his eyes, the stiffness of his shoulders. Zelda watched him through the ceremony, wishing she could have talked her father out of this. He had refused her pleas, believing she wanted to deny Link the honor out of spitefulness and dislike.

The moment the ceremony was done, Zelda swept from the hall, giving Link an excuse to leave too. She waited till they were out of public view to speak.

“I will be in my study all afternoon, catching up on my notes. Why don’t you take the rest of the day off? You must wish to rest— and to visit with your father.”

Link bowed and turned to go. But he hesitated, looking back at Zelda. “Do you want to meet him?” 

Zelda smiled and nodded her assent, following Link down to one of the training yards where ranks of green soldiers practiced the skills they would one day call upon to protect the realm. The officers in the yard saluted Link as soon as he walked in, then noticed the princess behind him and dropped to one knee. Zelda bade them rise and return to their work, trying to guess which one was Link’s father.

She identified him at once as the big man who was overseeing a group of young soldiers who had paired off to practice staff-fighting. Aside from his pale coloring, the man bore no physical resemblance to Link, who she could only assume took after his mother. But they held themselves in exactly the same way, shoulders straight and head high, with none of the rigidity that marked the other soldiers’ posture. Link brought her over to the big knight and introduced him as Aygo.

“You must be Link’s father,” said Zelda, smiling warmly.

“I have that honor,” confirmed Aygo. He was even bigger up close, barrel-chested and thickly muscled from neck to calf. Beside him, Link looked like a child.

“Your son has served the royal family, and the kingdom, with honor and courage,” said Zelda. The points of Link’s ears went red as radishes. “I am grateful to meet the man that he calls father.”

“You are too gracious,” said Aygo, “which does not surprise me. I have heard nothing but praise for your intelligence and strength of will. My son serves a worthy mistress. As do we all, your Highness. The future of Hyrule is in deserving hands.”

Now it was Zelda’s turn to blush. “I will not detain you; you must wish to converse without me hovering. But I am so happy to have met you, Aygo. I most eagerly look forward to speaking with you again. Link, please enjoy your afternoon off. I will see you in the morning.”

* * *

As usual, the first chance she got Zelda checked for any new letters from Mikah. Luckily, one had come in her absence. Zelda tore into it eagerly and sat in her windowsill to read it.

 _Dear Zell_ , he wrote, _I’m writing from Riverside, where I sang for my supper as I’m rather short of funds. I sang a tragic ballad and was given a tragic meal, of rice flavored with monster extract. I’ll never understand how you could stand the stuff, which tastes to me like an unholy union of good wine and bad eggs. I ate every bite and was grateful for the nourishment, but next time I will sing of roast Cucco._

_I’ve just accepted a month-long residency at Rito Village. I have our old teacher Kheel to thank for this— she recommended me for the position. I am excited for a chance to learn more of the Rito multi-tonal singing. Our throats aren’t set up for such things, but I am determined to master the technique anyway._

_Tell me everything you’ve been up to. Is your silent knight still driving you mad? You haven’t mentioned him in a while; I hope you haven’t killed and eaten him._

_Forgive the vulgarity; it’s the monster extract talking._

_I leave tomorrow morning for Tabantha. As always, I hope our travels will bring us together soon, if only for a little while. It is hard to spend so long surrounded by nothing but a string of strangers; my ears ache for the voice of a friend._

_Yours,_

_Mikah_

Zelda smiled and read the letter twice. Then she wrote him back, detailing her adventures in the provinces, the people she’d met, the stories she’d heard around campfires across Hyrule. She told him about the attack on Deya. She told him about the Spring of the Horse God, and the wizrobe in Damel.

 _I didn’t murder Link, and now it’s too late,_ she added in a post-script. _He’s saved me from certain death so many times it would be unsporting to kill him now. In any case, I’ve grown so used to him he’s almost like a friend, and one must never murder one’s friends._

Her time at the castle was mostly occupied with research. Zelda re-read all of her notes on the Guardians, searching for ways to improve their performance. She also went frequently to the Royal Ancient Tech Lab to consult Robbie and Purah. They had gotten a few of the Guardians quite close to full functionality. The goal was not to build robots capable of performing only pre-programmed tasks, but to transform the Guardians into partially-sentient creatures who could adapt to changing circumstances. After all, if they could think, they could learn; and if they could learn, they could be trained. This was the final goal, but it seemed forever just out of reach.

Not that Robbie and Purah weren’t close. Their lab was a cookpot of constant discovery. Every surface overflowed with parts: screws and gears, bolts and shafts, sheets of metal plating and the glowing orange cores that powered the Guardians. It was astonishing that they could squeeze themselves in between all the stacks of stuff, let alone find a place for Zelda to fit. But they did, even somehow managing to find room for their two faithful assistants, Shai and Jitan. In addition to aiding the scientists’ research, Shai and Jitan were trained in the martial arts, with a particular grounding in the Sheikah values of speed and stealth. As the Guardians were restored, the two assistants became instrumental in testing their awakened functions. They could often be seen running at top speed from one test site to the next, leaping and bounding over obstacles in their hurry. 

Zelda attended as many of these trial runs as she possibly could, watching eagerly from a safe distance with her notebook and the Sheikah Slate ready at hand. Link, of course, kept at high alert in case one of the machines ran amok, as they occasionally were wont to do.

Though by this point the two Sheikah assistants were more than a match for one malfunctioning Guardian. They had complementary strengths, and Zelda had seen them in action before, acting as a united team. Jitan was the swifter and stronger of the two, so fast when he sprinted that he became nothing more than a blur of white hair whizzing by. Shai was both more nimble and more stealthy. She could move quieter than a cat across a bed. One day while Zelda watched from the parapets, the Guardian they were testing began juddering and creaking, its single eye glowing red. Link immediately pushed Zelda to safety behind a stone column and then vaulted down into the courtyard to help subdue the malfunctioning machine. 

But his assistance did not turn out to be necessary. Zelda found a narrow crack in the stonework to peek through and watched as Jitan ran in a wide arc around the Guardian, drawing its aim, while Shai scaled its smooth black sides. She yanked the sash from around her narrow hips and tied it quickly over the Guardian’s single eye, effectively blindfolding it. It calmed immediately. From her vantage on the parapet, Zelda scribbled furious notes, and later interviewed the pair about their technique.

“Have you ever subdued a Guardian in this way before?” she asked, pencil at the ready.

“We’ve talked about it,” said Jitan, knitting his heavy white brows, “but have never had the opportunity to put our theory into practice. I’m only sorry it was necessary to take action against a Guardian while your Highness was present. Usually we have a tighter control over their protocols.”

“We are still in the development stage,” reasoned Zelda. “It is only to be expected that there will be… surprises. I am impressed with your presence of mind. And you didn’t have to vaporize anything!” Busy poking around the underbelly of the temporarily disabled Guardian, Link failed to notice the jab.

“We will return the machine to Purah for reprogramming and reset the trial in a few days. I hope your Highness will be able to attend.”

“I wouldn’t miss it.”

* * *

Whenever she stayed at the castle, Zelda was expected to begin each day with prayer at the Goddess statue inside Hyrule Cathedral. Some mornings, King Roam appeared to make sure she did it. On occasion, he even required her to lead a public devotional. Zelda disliked these events, which could eat up a whole morning and left her cranky and exhausted. But he insisted.

“The common people lose faith in the crown,” he said. “You must prove to them that you are making a serious effort to access your holy blood.”

“It’s all for show, anyway,” grumbled Zelda. She felt especially sour because Jitan and Shai were re-running the trial on their Guardian the next day, and she didn’t want to miss it. “Who can feel the divine whisperings of the Goddess while reciting prayers by rote memory in a crowded hall? Before breakfast, no less!”

“It is _because_ you deem it ‘all for show’ that you have had no success,” the king informed her sternly. “If you have a better way of unlocking the divine power, by all means enlighten me.”

“One cannot unlock a door that is rusted shut,” retorted Zelda. “Does it occur to you that perhaps the power is not there to be awakened, not because I am not trying, but because the blood of the Goddess has been thinned with too much _water?_ ” His face turned a satisfying shade of purple. He slammed his fist on the massive desk which separated them. Zelda felt sorry for Link, who had been covertly inching closer to her as the squall shaped into a storm. 

“You will perform the public devotional,” roared King Rhoam, “and you will _mean it!_ Now _get her out of here!”_ This last he barked at Link, who wasted no time conducting Zelda from the King’s study.

“The blowhard, the windbag, the pompous old _tyrant_ ,” Zelda fumed, storming down the hallway. “Every time he talks to me I feel more atheistic than ever. If the Goddess planted a seed of belief in my heart, _mon Père_ would water it with piss. I am beginning to feel as if a cloud hovered over this castle. Sometimes it does not storm, but at any time it _might_.” She took a deep breath, and faced her knight. 

“You don’t have to trail around after me today,” she said, softening at the sympathy in his eyes. “I’m not going anywhere. I have to prepare for this wretched devotional. Pray that it finishes before the Guardian trial begins tomorrow— and _that_ is a prayer I _do_ hope the Goddess hears. Go on, Link. You might as well have a break. Say hello to your father for me. Bring him some of those fried fleet-lotus seeds he likes. And sleep well tonight. Tomorrow’s ceremony will be long and boring, and I’m afraid His Majesty will expect you to be there for the whole thing.”

Link reluctantly obeyed, and Zelda went back to her room to prepare.

* * *

“In the hour of our greatest need, may your golden light shine upon us. May our upturned faces receive the dew of your radiant mercy. May the enemy who dwells in darkness be banished by the light. Shine upon us, Holy Goddess.”

_“Shine upon us.”_

Zelda stood at the front of Hyrule Cathedral, facing the polished stone statue of the Goddess. Despite her boredom and unbelief, she performed the theatrics flawlessly, painting sacred symbols in the air with a stick of smouldering incense and leading the spectators in prayer. She knew that she looked the part, garbed in a formal blue gown girdled with white, and a circlet of delicately worked gold. Her resemblance to the carved stone Goddess was striking to all who saw her. It ought to be: this particular statue had been modelled after her mother. 

“Lift us up from perdition as you once lifted the earth. Raise our hearts to you, and strike down our impurities. Offer us your hands and raise us out of the pit. Light in our hearts the flames that will chase away the twilight. Shine upon us, Holy Goddess.”

_“Shine upon us.”_

Zelda glanced surreptitiously at the angle of the light streaming in through the high leaded-glass windows. Only mid-morning; she still had time to make the trial. But of course, there was one part left to the devotional, and there was never any predicting how long it would take.

Zelda faced the crowd and held out her hands, inviting them to come up to her one by one for a benediction from the bloodline of the Goddess. This was the worst part. These people believed in her, and she was lying to them.

But she had no choice. Best to stick with vague, nonspecific blessings, and get it over as quickly as possible. It was not her subjects’ fault that she was an imposter. And if believing in her gave them hope, she would not take that away. She arranged her face into a gracious smile and tried to put a little burst of warmth into each of her generic blessings. Individually they were brief, but they added up. And the Sanctum was full today. Afraid, the people turned to faith.

“Papa, look— it’s the man who jumped over all the fences!” exclaimed a very young and decidedly _not_ very reverent voice. A little girl made it to the front of the line, tugging her father by the hand and gesticulating delightedly at the Hero of Hyrule who stood, as ever, at Zelda’s shoulder.

“Mala?” exclaimed Zelda. “And Runyo? How lucky I am to see you— though you’re a bit far from Lolon Ranch!”

“Your Highness is kind to remember us,” said Runyo, bowing. “I have accepted a job at Lolon, but it doesn’t start till next week. Mala wanted to see the town, so today we are sightseers.”

“Are you a princess?” Mala asked suspiciously, eyeing Zelda’s golden tiara.

“I’m afraid so.”

“Is _he?_ ” She pointed at Link.

Zelda raised her eyebrows at her sworn knight. “Not exactly,” she laughed.

“Good,” Mala said decisively. “I’m gonna marry him.”

“That’s enough, Mala,” chided Runyo. “Ask for the Goddess’s blessing, and then we’ll get kebabs.”

“May the Goddess smile upon us.”

“May the Goddess smile,” returned Zelda. “Goodbye, Mala. Goodbye, Runyo. Good luck at the ranch.”

The benedictions lasted until well past noon. Zelda was tired and hungry by the time the last congregant had received their blessing, but she didn’t stop to rest or eat before hurrying out to the broad boulevard that led to the castle. If she was very lucky, they mightn’t be done yet.

She raced the castle and burst out onto the parapet overlooking the courtyard, and her black mood immediately evaporated.

The Guardian was walking. Better than that, it was walking independently, following its Sheikah handlers of its own accord, watching them for cues through a pulsating blue eye. No longer a pile of parts, though it was not clear yet whether it had developed intentionality. It responded to stimuli with the same bewildered striving of a dog who means to do well, but isn’t very clever. This was leaps and bounds beyond anything the Sheikah techs had accomplished before. 

“Incredible,” exclaimed Zelda, drinking in the beautiful sight of the mobilized Guardian. “We can actually regulate them. At this rate, we’ll soon know all we need to know about the Guardians and the Divine Beasts. Should Ganon ever show itself again, we’ll be able to defend ourselves.”

“What are you doing out here, Zelda?” 

Her excitement vanished as quickly as it had appeared. King Rhoam had followed them out here. Could she not have this one small victory? Was he determined to spoil every source of pleasure for her? She balled her hands into fists, pressing the nails into her palms to keep herself from saying something that would provoke the king and prolong this conversation.

“I was assessing the results of the experiments with the Guardians,” she said, carefully neutral. “It is this ancient technology which will be most useful against the—”

“I know that,” the king interrupted. “They are essential to Hyrule’s future and prudence demands that my researchers keep a close eye on them. However, as the princess, _you_ still have an unfulfilled responsibility to your kingdom. Let me ask you once more: when will you stop treating this as some sort of childish game?”

“I’m doing everything I can,” she answered, forcing herself to remain civil. “Wasn’t I just at the Spring of Courage? I offered every ounce of my prayers to the Goddess.”

“And now you are here, wasting your time. You need to be dedicating every waking moment to your training. You must be single-minded in unlocking the power that will seal Calamity Ganon away.”

“I already am! Don’t you see? There’s nothing more I can do!” Goddess, she was tired of having this conversation with him. It was like bashing her head against a stone wall. Down in the courtyard, so close she could hear the whirring of its many legs, the Guardian paced back and forth, a symbol of power and protection. It was lighter on its feet than it looked. A lizalfos would have been no match for it. If they had only gotten the Guardians working a little sooner...

“My hope—” Zelda said, the fight blowing suddenly out of her. “My hope is that you— that you’ll allow me to contribute here, in whatever way I can.”

But the king was not persuaded. “No more excuses, Zelda. Stop running away from your duty. As the king, I forbid you to have anything to do with these machines from this moment on. Stay out of the Ancient Tech Lab and do not go poking around the ancient Shrines. These things do not concern you. I command you to focus on your training.”

He walked over to the balcony, seeming suddenly frail despite his solidity. “Do you know how the gossip mongers refer to you? They are out there at this moment whispering among themselves that you are the heir to a throne of nothing— nothing but failure. It is woven into your destiny that you prove them wrong. Do you understand?” He gazed down on the courtyard as he spoke, and Zelda knew that where she saw explorers, scientists, intrepid allies, he saw only agents of discord. Had he always been so mistrustful? Was there anyone left in the world he respected?

“Oh, yes. I understand,” she said, and meant it with all her heart.

* * *

“Do you prefer the most direct route, or would you rather sleep in a bed every night?” 

Zelda and Link were walking their mounts down East Castletown Road. All around them, the town was waking up. The day was young, the sun not yet risen in the east. It promised to beam brightly into their eyes all morning.

Link gave Zelda a look that plainly conveyed his perfect compatibility with either course. Zelda, who wanted to put as much distance between them and the castle as possible, elected to pursue the straightest line to Akkala. The outposts would always be there in case they wanted company, hot baths, or supplies. Soon they were free, making their way east.

With every mile that passed, Zelda’s spirits lifted. Even Storm seemed happier beneath her, a bounce in his steady steps. They crossed Hylia River in mid-morning, ate their midday bread and fish in a colossal hollowed-out tree trunk in the Crenel Hills, then crossed Rutala as the day was drawing to a close. They pitched camp on a low hill in Trilby Plain, under cover of a stand of trees. Link shot a red fox, and they ate its pungent meat skewered on stakes and roasted on an open flame, together with apples baked on the embers.

By next evening’s close, they had considerably climbed in altitude. The air felt drier and cooler up here on the Ternio Trail, so that their campfire was a welcome comfort. Death Mountain glowed in the distance, Vah Rudania just visible as a shifting shadow on its dark slopes. 

“By this time tomorrow,” observed Zelda, “we’ll be in the Akkala Highlands. Have you ever seen Akkala?”

Link nodded. He swallowed his mouthful of meat. “I got lost in Akkala when I was fourteen. Spent the whole autumn wandering around.”

“Perhaps we’d better not rely on you to navigate, then?” teased Zelda. 

“Oh, I never get lost in the same place twice.” He tore a strip of fox-meat from the leg-bone he was brandishing like a boko club. “I love Akkala,” he added. “It smells good.”

“I don’t know that I’ve ever noticed,” said Zelda. “Goddess knows I’ve been there often enough. What does it smell like?”

Link masticated thoughtfully, considering.

“Like rain putting out a bonfire,” he said at last.

“I shall endeavor to detect it,” said Zelda. “Do other places have a smell?”

“Everything smells like something.”

“Naturally. I suppose _I_ must reek of sweat and horses.”

“Sure,” he agreed, “but underneath is all the smells you can’t wash off. Warm dust and dried aster. Wind.”

“There’s no way you could get all that,” she said. “All I can smell is our campfire.”

“I’d know you with my eyes closed and your mouth shut,” he said simply, and helped himself to another skewer. Zelda watched him chew, jaw flickering, nostrils flaring appreciatively. She sidled around the fire to him on her knees. Link eyed her nervously.

Zelda buried her nose in his neck and inhaled theatrically. 

Link swallowed. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Um,” he said.

“Hush, I’m concentrating.” One more deep sniff and she sat back on her feet. Link looked faintly alarmed.

“Remarkable,” said Zelda, putting her finger on her chin and tilting her head quizzically. “You smell exactly like...our campfire. I must put it in my notes.”

Link opened his mouth, then closed it helplessly. He went warily back to his meal. Zelda took a second skewer herself.

Eating her dinner, she reflected that she hadn’t been _entirely_ truthful. He did smell like woodsmoke and horses and sweat, just as she’d expected. But there was something underneath, too, something green and bright and soft. Like a young leaf unfurling in the rain.

* * *

They passed by the Citadel late the next morning, a great stone hulk in the distance, before their road led them downhill again toward East Akkala. The Akkala region had always struck Zelda as being a little mysterious, a little unknowable. Maybe that was just because it was so hard to get to, set apart by geography. But more than that, the landscape had an alien quality, the twisted bones of the earth somehow closer to the surface than in other regions of Hyrule. Even the trees were different, their foliage shading from green to yellow to orange and flame-red no matter the season, their trunks spindly and strangely fossilized-looking. 

In the past, she had sometimes felt unwelcomed, not by the people but by the land itself. Certainly it could not have helped that she had never come here for any other reason than to pray futilely at the Spring of Power. She had seen this road only through the windows of her royal coach, accompanied by handmaidens and bodyguards. Not until Link’s appointment had she begun to travel so far on horseback, with so small a retinue, in such peace and quiet. Not until now had she looked at the land through the eyes of one who loved it.

And Link _did_ love it, that much was abundantly plain. His whole being glowed with it; the sunlight filled his skin and his hair and his eyes and beamed back out at Zelda every time she met his gaze. Crossing Akkala Span was like passing a gate from one world to the next. Everything felt reborn.

“What did you _do_ when you were lost here before?” Zelda asked, amazed at the change in her companion.

“Nothing,” he said. “Just wandered.”

They ate their lunch at South Akkala Stable, cooking tabantha-wheat noodles with butter, chickaloo nuts and chunks of pumpkin. As so frequently happened when Link manned the cookpot, they found themselves surrounded by hungry travellers who were willing to trade for a hot fresh meal. Geren, a stablehand with a passion for exotic foods, swapped them a whole sackful of endura carrots for a skewer of crisped pumpkin.

“I feed ‘em to my mount when she needs help going that last mile,” he said. “Never fails. You’ve gotta pay attention to their needs, you know. They’re horses, not Taluses.”

They free-camped that night in the woods at the north end of Shadow pass. Though sheltered by trees, they were now far enough north to feel the cold winds that swept in off the Akkala Sea at sunset. It was not cold enough to drink any of the warmth elixirs they’d brought— they’d be sweating through their blankets in minutes. But it was cold enough to be glad of a low fire, which they slept curved around in a crescent, heads pillowed on their packs.

Zelda dreamed that night of a woman who looked very much like her mother, standing in a blackened field, clad in white, reaching out with both arms. Zelda longed to run into the woman’s embrace— longed with all her heart to lay her head upon that soft breast— but she did not, or could not. She woke gasping with loss.

She made no more noise than that— a soft intake of breath— but it was enough to wake Link. He took her hand in the dark. Their fire had burned down to embers.

“Go back to sleep,” whispered Zelda, ashamed to have roused him over a silly dream. He closed his eyes and snuggled back into his bedroll, and Zelda attempted to do the same. But she couldn’t get comfortable, and after several minutes of her fidgeting Link reached out in the pre-dawn gloom to gather her into his arms, tugging his blanket around them both. They lay chest to chest, protecting each other from the morning’s damp chill. Without opening his eyes, he pressed a kiss against her forehead, her eyelid, her cheek. She did not know if he was aware of it, or if he was even awake.

When he lay his lips idly upon hers, she kissed him back very softly, just once. She tucked her head under his chin, and if she did not sleep, at least she was no longer cold.


	9. East Akkala

They reached Ordorac Quarry well before noon. Zelda changed into her shift and went into the Spring. Link followed her, standing back on the platform as he had done at the Spring of Courage.

At the last moment Zelda turned back, taking Link’s hand.

“What if I’m not strong enough?” she asked in a faint voice. “What if I don’t have the power— what if I never had it?”

“Then you’ll find another power.” He cupped his hands around her numb fingers, warming them. When she couldn’t put it off any longer, Zelda forced herself to wade into the icy water. Link turned around to guard the entrance. Zelda stared up at the Goddess statue, and didn’t know what to say.

“I’m not sure I ever believed in this power I’m supposed to have,” she began hesitantly. “But I’ve always done what I was supposed to do. Reluctantly, yes. But I’ve done it. Was...was belief necessary? Was there ever a chance of it working without faith? Because deciding to believe in a thing I deem to be false is one power I do _not_ have, nor do I regard it as a desirable trait in a ruler. If I could just _decide_ what to believe, as I decide which boots to wear or what to eat for lunch, what then would prevent me choosing wrong? If I am to believe, it must not be arbitrary— it must be predicated upon what I can know with my own senses. I will respect no other faith than that faith which is properly rooted. If I was ever to believe in you, you had to be the one to show me how. Is that so strange? Is it a weakness to need help?”

She could no longer feel her toes. Her arms were rough with gooseflesh. Was that all part of the test— to suffer physical pain without complaint, in order to convince the Goddess of her strength? Zelda had endured worse than this before. She had passed out at this Shrine when she was younger, refusing to leave the water until she had proven her strength of will— not to the Goddess, but to her father who had accompanied her on that trip. Urbosa had been forced to fish her out of the water and revive her, with many choice epithets for the King’s cruelty. Père had protested that he’d only asked Zelda to pray, not to hurt herself. But Urbosa had not been impressed with his defense, and that had been the last time he’d accompanied Zelda to a Spring. Which of course had been Zelda’s goal in the first place.

He was not here now, except as a voice in Zelda’s head that she could, if not silence, then at least ignore. Her father was not here, but Link was. Link, who believed in her, against all her early efforts to make him hate her. Link, who heard voices from the other side, Link who was patient and generous and as obstinate as Zelda herself, in his own peculiar way. She wondered what the Goddess thought of _him_.

“I come to you now,” she said, hoping to strike a reverent tone but unable to prevent an edge of frustration from creeping in, “seeking help regarding this power that has been handed down over time. I have been told all my life that prayer will awaken my power to seal Ganon away. Grandmere heard them, the voices from the spirit realm. And Maman said her own power would develop within me. But I don’t hear— or feel— anything! Père has scolded me time and time again. He says to quit wasting my time playing at being a scholar. Is that what you want, too? Is it, you— you cursed thing?” She brought her fists down on the surface of the water, an infuriatingly impotent gesture. 

“I’ve spent my whole life praying. I’ve pleaded with the spirits tied to the ancient gods. And still the holy powers elude me. Please, just tell me— what is it? What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with _you?_ Is it only a prayer if it is uttered in a chant, waist-deep in frigid water? Are not my countless hours of research a prayer for wisdom? Are not my ceaseless efforts with the Guardians a prayer for power— the power to protect my people? _Those_ are the prayers I believe in. Why are they not enough for you? Must your name be invoked for my prayers to count? Begging your pardon, but I think that is a shameful way for a goddess to behave. Why do _you_ , a divine being so far above me in every way, care whether I acknowledge you or not? If you love your people, why would you place the sole device for their salvation in one ill-tempered girl, and then strike down the one woman in her life who might have helped her access it? Why punish Hyrule just because I cannot decipher the rules of your game? If I fail, will more people die? Will you simply throw up your hands and say that it was not your fault, there was nothing you could do? Excuse me, Goddess, but _you_ are the deity and _I_ am nothing but a petty, spiteful, _willful_ _child!_ Why rest your divine plan on the shoulders of one you plainly do not believe is strong enough?” 

She had waded close to the statue and now, without realizing what she did, she began beating her fists against the rough stone plinth.

“I _could_ be strong enough if I knew the rules! I could be strong enough if you showed me what to do, or gave me a hint, or talked to me at all! But you left me alone just like _she_ did— no, not like her, because Maman would have stayed if she could! You are more like Père, who might have loved me and chose not to! You are just like him, and I _will not beg you to care!”_

Her voice had risen to a rough, ugly scream. Her hands and feet were numb— all of her was numb, yet all of her was on fire, too, burning with rage at the so-called goddess of love. She hated her in this moment, hated even the idea of her. Zelda was so full of hate and rage that it took her a long time to feel his arms around her, restraining her pummeling fists. 

“Let me _go_ ,” she panted, tears of vexation streaming down her cheeks, “I don’t care about any of it anymore, I don’t care about Hylia or Ganon or Père or _anyone_ , let me _go_ , Link, or I’ll—”

“You’re bleeding,” he said gently. “Zelda, let me help you. Please?”

If he had overpowered her with his vastly superior strength, if he had even raised his voice, she would have kneed him between the legs and run away. But he asked her. Link had never asked her for anything before.

“I’m bleeding?” she echoed. Link looked down at her hands, which were scraped raw from their assault on the weathered stone. “I’m bleeding,” she said again. 

Numbly she let him lead her back out of the Spring. She couldn’t seem to think clearly; her body felt drained. She could barely walk. She felt as tired as if she’d not slept in days. Her toes were blue-tipped with cold. She struggled out of her wet gown and into her travelling trousers and blue tunic. She left the gown lying where it dropped.

Epona and Storm wandered over, happy to see their friends. Link knelt and cupped his hands to give Zelda a boost up onto Storm. She was aware of riding, her head drooping into her chest— she was aware of Epona drawing close, of Link reaching for her as she slid sideways off the saddle. She was aware, briefly, of being drawn onto Epona’s saddle in front of Link, her head nodding against his chest. Then she was aware of nothing at all.

* * *

Zelda woke in the same stand of trees where they had made camp the night before. The moon was high and bright, the cool night air bracing. She lay gazing into the fire and wondered if she’d dreamed the visit to the Spring. Had she really screamed abuse at the Goddess of Power? 

But the twinge in her hands was all she needed to confirm that she had in fact, thrown a temper tantrum at a statue. She sucked her breath between her teeth as the dull throb flared into a sharper pain.

“You’re awake,” observed Link from across the flames. He was busily stirring something in the hollow of his shield. A scent of egg and fried mushrooms met Zelda’s nose. She was suddenly ravenous.

“What’s for dinner...or is it breakfast?” Zelda squinted at the sky; the moon was lowering, not rising. They had, perhaps, a few more hours of darkness.

“Hearty truffles for your hands and eggs for your stomach,” said Link. “Here, hand me that korok leaf, yours is just about ready.”

They ate with a good appetite. After only a few bites, the pain began to recede from Zelda’s hands. By the time she had licked her korok leaf clean and tossed it into the woods, she could barely feel her injuries at all.

“Let’s pack up, and then we’ll go,” said Link briskly, rising to his feet. 

“Go? Where are we going? Not back to the castle already— it’s not even dawn yet. Surely we can wait a few hours?”

“No, not the castle,” said Link. “I have somewhere else in mind. But we should leave soon if we’re to make it in time. Here, you scour the shield. I’ll get the horses ready.”

Fifteen minutes later they were trotting back along the road that had brought them into Akkala. The moon was more than bright enough to show the way. They rode side-by-side, so that neither might be out of sight of the other. Zelda asked, once, where they were going if not back to the castle; but Link, if he heard her, did not answer.

After a while, he directed Epona off the path and they rode across open countryside, skirting the occasional tree-copse and clambering up or down shallow inclines. Zelda lost her sense of direction completely in the dark, but Link knew where they were going. The sky was beginning to turn gray when he finally called a halt. They dismounted, and Link saw to the horses while Zelda gratefully stretched her limbs. They had stopped at a grassy bluff overlooking a long valley that was slowly filling up with pearly light.

“Where are we?” Zelda asked, and this time he answered.

“Sunrise.”

Zelda realized, as she watched the eastern sky shift from gray to pink and then salmon and marigold, that she could see all the way to the ocean. A low fog hung over the water and veins of light streaked across the sky, gold ore in lapis. She watched the day grow, enraptured. The valley to their right was a river of mist, flowing inland. The wind blew bright and swift against her cheeks. It swept the breath from her lungs and left her gasping. If she stood at the very edge of the bluff, she almost felt as if she flew.

She turned to Link to say something, but he was not looking at the sunrise. He was looking at her.

Zelda smiled at him, heart full of the golden sky and the wind and the soft-eyed boy in front of her. She felt so full she might overflow.

“I never feel like this when I pray,” she whispered. Maybe if she did it would work.

“Come on,” said Link, taking her by the hand. “I’ll race you to the bottom.”

They ran, shrieking like children, into the valley where the fog was already burning off under the bright morning sun. On a ridge at the northeast edge of the valley, bells rang out from a monastery school well-concealed in a stand of trees. Storm and Epona galloped, tossing their heads and snorting. The horses rolled in the deep grass, their legs waving frantically in the air. Zelda laughed at the sight of her elegant, pedigreed steed wiggling on the ground like a puppy. She laughed until her stomach hurt. She hadn’t laughed like that in…

Actually, she didn’t know _when_ she’d ever laughed like that.

Link was looking at her very intently. “I wish I could stop time,” he said, unexpectedly. There was a strange, sharp pain in his voice that called up an answering ache just behind Zelda’s ribcage.

“Why don’t we?” she said. “Why shouldn’t we?”

“I can’t just turn off that part of me. I don’t think you can, either. We both know what we are.”

“We could forget for one day,” she said appealingly. “Sunrise to sunrise. Just do whatever we want, and not think about anything else. Tomorrow you can forget all about it if you like.”

“Well…” He wavered. “If you want to. If it’s just one day.”

They spent the morning hunting restless crickets in the grass, creeping up to them and pouncing at the last minute. They stalked hightail lizards, trying to keep up with the racing reptiles. They looked for interesting wildflowers, identifying heather, yarrow and sorrowbalm. Link found a patch of chamomile, the white-and-yellow blossoms bobbing cheerfully in the sun. He tucked one of these into the braid that held Zelda’s hair off her face, over her left ear. Then, embarrassed by the uncharacteristically forward gesture, he ran away to do several dozen somersaults, landing dizzily in a bush a hundred yards away. 

When the sun had reached its height, they galloped down the length of the valley to the sea. Link foraged for shellfish in a shallow tide pool while Zelda gathered driftwood to light a campfire. It burned as blue as the flames Purah and Robbie used to forge replacement Guardian parts. They cooked their lunch on a stone heated by the fire: toasted crickets, mussels roasted in their own shells, lacy seaweed wrapped around balls of rice leftover from the last stable. Everything was delicious.

The afternoon sun beat hot on their beach. After cleaning up from their meal, Zelda leaned back against a log that had washed ashore and closed her eyes. The breeze off the Akkala Sea played deliciously in her hair. She didn’t mean to fall asleep, but somehow she still found herself waking up a half hour later, warm as a hightail lizard on its rock. 

She sat up and stretched luxuriantly. She looked around for Link, but did not see him anywhere— though there were his clothes, neatly folded on a rock with the Master Sword resting on top. Within a few moments, he appeared, exploding out of the water in a plume of spray. He rolled and gamboled through the waves just offshore, shoulders sparking with seawater, hair clinging in whorls to his cheeks. He could hold his breath for an awfully long time.

Finally he noticed her watching him, and waved excitedly from the water. “There’s a warm current that goes by here every day,” he shouted. “Come in!”

Eagerly Zelda stripped out of her girdle and shirt and traveling breeches, down to her short linen drawers and thin camisole. She ran full-tilt at the water, which was indeed mild and pleasant. She swam out toward Link in a respectable crawl, refusing to be intimidated by his strong and graceful breastroke. He morphed fluidly between strokes, breast- to back- to butterfly, cobbling together something that let him spiral through the water and launch out of it like a leaping trout.

Too soon the current shifted, all warmth draining into an icy river that turned their skin white and their lips blue. Groaning in disappointment, they trudged out of the water and gathered up their clothes, heading back up into the valley where the wind was gentler and warmer.

“I’d better dry off before I get dressed,” said Zelda. 

“That thin linen won’t take long,” said Link, and swallowed hard, blushing. Zelda looked down at herself— realized how little the wet material left to the imagination— and blushed too. Link had turned away and was making rather a fuss about putting his pants on. 

So he was human, after all.

“Wait,” she said, surprising them both. He looked over his shoulder at her, questioning. 

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing. I don’t know. Just… wait.” She took a slow step toward him. He stared at her, wide-eyed. A few droplets still clung to his shoulders, catching the light.

“What are you doing?” he whispered helplessly.

“If I kissed you— just a little bit, you know— do you think you might kiss me back? Since today doesn’t count?”

“If I kissed you,” he said, “it would count.”

His hand had slid up her bare arm, her shoulder, her neck, his thumb grazing her cheek. His eyes were very wide.

They kissed tentatively at first, fumbling. Link pulled her closer and Zelda pressed herself eagerly against him. The smell of him— green and bright, washed by the sea— went to her head like an intoxicant.

Link broke away first. Zelda lunged after him with a muted yelp of protest, but this time he meant it.

“I have to stop now or I won’t stop at all,” he said. With one last covetous glance at her, he finished doggedly pulling on his clothes. Groaning ruefully, Zelda got dressed, too.

“Let’s have another race,” she suggested. “I feel like beating you. Say, from that big tree on the ridge where we stashed our packs, all the way down to that clump of heather. Whoever wins gets to name their prize.”

He agreed, and they clambered up the slope to the tree. Storm and Epona watched them, unconcerned, happily eating the tops off of wildflowers. 

Link threw an apple as high as he could, and when it hit the ground, they went into action. He sprinted down the slope, undeniably a faster runner than Zelda despite being not much taller. But she had a backup plan. She snatched his shield from his pack under the tree and leapt onto it, using it to surf down the steep decline. She took the lead in only a few seconds, waving gaily as she passed. She sailed all the way to the finish line and alit victoriously from the shield, waiting for Link to catch up.

Far from accusing her of cheating— which would have been more than fair— he peppered her with questions, delivered at top speed without pause for breath. How had she learned to do that? Who had taught her? What were the mechanics of steering? Would any kind of shield work? Was it hard to learn? Could she teach him?

“Urbosa taught me. This is a common practice in Gerudo Desert.” She couldn’t help but laugh at his excitement. “Come on, I’ll teach you.”

Not very surprisingly, Link picked up shield-surfing quickly. There was a knack to the timing of it, and it was hard work keeping the angle of the shield steady so that it neither skidded over the grass nor dug in and got caught. But he had a good feel for it, falling off the shield only a little more often than Zelda herself did. They took turns surfing down the hill, tumbling onto the grass at the bottom, racing back up with the shield, keeping track of falls on their fingers. Storm and Epona rolled their eyes at the two foolish humans behaving like colts.

Eventually, Zelda was so winded from running and surfing and laughing that she had to call a halt. “I’m still owed a prize,” she reminded him. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten!”

“What do you want?”

“Give me another kiss,” she said with a sly grin. He swept her up, swinging her in a joyful circle before setting her down and kissing her soundly. Zelda shivered pleasurably, her fingers roving across his slim, athletic shoulders, his strong arms, his narrow hips. His boyish frame was well-made, fascinating for the ways in which it differed from her own. They kissed till they were dizzy. 

“I think you must really like shield-surfing,” she teased.

“I like learning anything new.”

“I shall bear that most earnestly in mind.”

All that afternoon they ran around the valley looking for interesting bugs and rocks and plants. Link loaned Zelda his bow, lining up shingles of bark along a low hillock for her to aim at, hunting around in the long grass to retrieve the arrows that missed. When she managed to hit a crane at thirty paces, Link fetched it back to her, effusively praising her shot which had pierced the avian heart. 

The valley was filling up with gold, the distant school bells ringing once more. They set up camp on a plateau overlooking the valley. Link fried their bird in his poor abused shield, along with pungent herbs and foraged nuts. Zelda was ravenous, and ate half the bird in one sitting.

They watched the sun set over the hills, fingers intertwined. In the dim twilight they settled down by the fire, pleasantly warm and lazy under the windbreak Link had staked out. He spread armfuls of soft, sweet-smelling prairie grass for them to bed down on. Neither of them suggested it, but when they lay down they lay together, smiling dreamily at one another. Zelda did not intend to close her eyes, but it was hard to keep them open after such a full day, with Link playing with her hair so very softly. She fell asleep without quite meaning to.

When she woke, the sky was dim gray in the east. Dawn was coming. Her belly tied itself in a knot and she realized she might have been a little short-sighted when she glibly suggested they drop out of the world for one day. The drop back in promised a much rockier landing. 

“I don’t want the sun to rise,” she whispered, as earnest a prayer as anything she’d uttered before a Goddess statue.

“Neither do I,” said Link from the blackness beside her.

That was all she needed. Zelda turned to him, feeling carefully in the dark. They undressed each other, navigating laces and buttons by feel. Zelda had no idea how to touch another person but she did know _some_ things, and Link was indeed an enthusiastic learner. 

Afterward they lay, lost in each other, their eyes closed as if by not looking at it they could will the dawn away. Link’s arms threatened to squeeze the breath out of her.

“Cursed sun,” she mourned. “Cursed day.”

“It will be a beautiful day,” he whispered. “And we have so much work to do.”

“I know. I know that. I just…” She slumped. “You’re right. We did agree, after all. Better to put it away, and forget it.”

But he took her face in his hands, forcing her to open her eyes and look at him in the growing light. “I won’t forget,” he said reverently. “Not today, not tomorrow, not in a hundred years."

“ _Good_ ,” she said fiercely. She kissed him one last time, and got up. They broke their camp, ate a few bites left over from dinner, and called their horses over to be saddled. Soon enough they were on the road, a knight and a princess once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> East Akkala Plains is my favorite location in the game, especially if you get there right before sunrise. I've wasted hours just watching the light effects change throughout the day. What are some of your favorite places?


	10. The Color of a Soul

“Should I even ask how it went at the Spring of Power?” King Rhoam sat on his throne, where Zelda had come to make her report to him. Having expected her back a day earlier, he had commanded his gatekeepers to send her to him as soon as she arrived back at the castle. She had barely been given time to change into court dress.

She stood now with her head bowed. Link knelt behind her. The king was surrounded by his advisors, who all looked as if they would very much rather be somewhere else

“I’m interrupting a meeting,” she said. “I should come back later—”

“Tell me now. You were gone longer than I expected. Dare I hope your extended leave was to pursue a deeper connection with the Goddess? Or was it just another ancient shrine in the wilderness luring you off the righteous path?”

“I didn’t visit any shrines,” said Zelda. “You ordered me not to.”

“My obedient daughter. I wonder what answer I would receive if I asked the Hero of Hyrule where you’ve been.”

“The _Hero_ doesn’t talk,” spat Zelda with sudden venom. Enduring her father’s thinly-veiled accusations herself was bad enough; if he tried to suck Link into their poisoned conflict, she might scratch his eyes out.

“So you still bear him this irrational ill-will? It seems, Zelda, you cannot be persuaded to get along with _anyone_.”

Zelda clenched her fists at her sides. “We ran into bad weather in South Akkala,” she said with exaggerated calm. “We had to go slowly so our horses wouldn’t lose their footing on the mountain paths. That was what took us so long. I did not disobey your command regarding the shrines. Do _all_ of your advisors need to be here?”

“What was your success at the Spring?”

“I was just getting to that. Your Majesty, I achieved communion with the Goddess.”

A hush fell over the throne room. The king leaned forward, face suddenly pale.

“You did?”

“Yes. She gave me a message.”

“What… what message?"

“She told me to tell you to calm down before you give yourself a heart attack. You’re not getting any younger.”

The throne room erupted in shocked whispers. Not without satisfaction, Zelda marked one or two hands hurrying to cover surprised smiles. The king, however, was not amused. He leapt to his feet, and the noise died down at once.

“ _You will not blaspheme in my presence_ ,” he bellowed. “I have tried to make you understand your place in all this! I have done my duty, and more than my duty, and still you refuse to do even one-tenth of yours!”

“I pray to the Goddess _all the time_. My duty is not to her, it’s to Hyrule!”

“Your duty is to _me_ , and you have failed me at every turn! Your seventeenth birthday is in less than a month. I had always hoped that by the time you were old enough to ascend Mount Lanayru and pray at the Spring of Wisdom, you would have made yourself receptive to the Goddess’s will. A foolish hope of a too-indulgent father, I now see. I will be curtailing your freedoms anon.”

“Père—”

“I will make out an itinerary for your days going forward. The study above your room shall be converted into a chapel. From now on, you shall perform public devotionals every day.”

“Leave my study alone!”

“It is not your study, my girl. You will do well to remember that.”

Zelda’s head was swimming. She longed to rush up onto the dais and bite the king. She worried she might even cry in front of all these people.

“What do you think this will accomplish?” she burst out.

“If the Goddess is merciful, the loss of your _superfluous hobbies_ will focus your attention, so that when you go up on the mountain to pray you will have some hope of succeeding.”

“Your Majesty?”

Link spoke so softly that almost nobody heard him. But Zelda did. She turned to him in disbelief. The others in the room quieted too, as they realized the mute Hero of Hyrule had finally opened his mouth.

“Stand, sworn knight,” said the king. “Stand and speak.”

Link rose to his feet. Standing right next to him Zelda could see the hardness of his jaw, the stiffness of his shoulders, the misery on his face. From the dais, King Rhoam and his advisors saw only the Hero of Hyrule, perfectly composed and perfectly in his place. Just like always.

“There may be another way, Your Majesty.”

“Another way? Tell me, Hero, what would you do in my place?”

“Years ago, while travelling alone, I was caught in a storm in the region to the southwest. I got lost on a mountain, and I found that the higher I climbed the less it stormed. Near the top I found a quiet clearing where a cherry tree bloomed, even though it wasn’t the season for it. Lower down I could still see flashes of lightning, but on the mountain I felt peace. There was no shrine, no statue, no human mark of any kind. But _something_ was there.”

“What was the name of this mountain, Hero?”

“There was no signpost, and I saw no one to ask. But I could find it again.”

“You think even my obstinate daughter could feel something on this mountain?”

Instead of answering, Link bowed.

The king made up his mind. “ _He_ , at least, has the proper devotion. Zelda, you and the Hero will seek this strange mountain. When you have found it, pray with all your might to be transformed into a vessel for the Goddess’s power. If you will not accept my guidance, please consider accepting your sworn knight’s. _He_ possesses the proper reverence. If you cannot be softened, all hope is truly lost. You will do well to remember that.”

“If I could forget it, I would.” 

“Save your cheek for a day when you have something to show for your efforts. After the mountain, proceed straight to Lanayru.”

“Link’s birthday is a few days after mine,” Zelda pointed out. “We’ll have to wait till he’s of age, too.”

“Fine. But come straight back to the castle afterward. I will expect a full account of your movements, from both you and the Hero.”

Zelda bowed to the king, nodded politely to his advisors, and left the throne room.

Once in a hallway that was comparatively private, she turned to Link.

“Why did you do that?” she asked flatly. “Is there even such a mountain? Do you think it will make a difference?”

“I didn’t lie,” Link said, hurt. “It’s a real place.”

“Of course it is,” she said, chastened. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to— Link, your hands are shaking.”

“No they’re not.” Both of them looked down at his hands. They were shaking. 

Zelda took them in hers, bowing her head. “You did that for me. So that he wouldn’t destroy my study.”

His only answer was silence.

“He’ll probably destroy it anyway. I’ll have to take a few days to encrypt my research notes before Père takes his ulcer out on my work. Perhaps Shai will help smuggle them to Purah. Could you ask her to come to my room in three nights’ time?”

He nodded.

“You hated that, didn’t you? Talking to the king, with everyone watching.” She regarded him pensively. His hands had stopped trembling, but he looked terribly weary. “You should rest. I will be ready to leave in four days. Aside from seeing to our supplies, you may do as you like with the intervening time. I won’t be going anywhere. And thank you for… well. Just thank you.”

* * *

Zelda was compelled to take time out of her three days at the castle to perform public devotionals, but she made up for her lost mornings by working well into the night, transcribing and encoding her notes. On the third night, Shai appeared in the window of her study, so silent that she had to clear her throat several times before Zelda noticed her.

“Oh! Shai. Thank you for coming. Link spoke to you?”

“Yes, your Highness.”

“I am giving a copy of my notes to you. Please bring them to Purah, she’ll know what to do with them. I’m sure it’s an unnecessary step, but…”

“We live in uncertain times. It is well to be prepared. I will bring Purah the notes.” She glanced at the door. “ _Discreetly_ ,” she added.

Zelda sighed. “I suppose there is no hiding the fact that I have been forbidden to continue my research. Perhaps it _was_ self-indulgent of me, but I believed— I _believe_ in what you are doing.”

Shai considered her next words. “We Sheikah have long memories, you know.”

“You are talking about what my ancestors did to yours, aren’t you?”

“Some people wish we would forget.”

“Some people are fools.” 

Shai secreted the sheaf of papers somewhere inside her skin-tight bodysuit, where they seemingly vanished. “I will do as you charge me, Your Highness. You depart tomorrow for Satori Mountain?”

“I didn’t know it had a name.”

“Oh, it does. We have known about it for a long time.”

“What do you know of this place?”

“We believe it is the place where the Sage Rauru resides, in the form of a hoofed and antlered creature we call the Lord of the Mountain.”

“I’ve heard of Satori Mountain, but I never knew it was sacred.”

“You have visited the Springs of Power and Courage, and felt nothing.”

“How do you know I—”

“The Springs are human artifacts. The Goddess Statues were built by human hands. They may be special, but they are not sacred. They are only a place to worship, to feel close to the gods. A field of wildflowers, or a cave of luminous stone, or a tranquil forest will do just as well.”

“Tell that to my father.”

“I am telling it to _you_. I hope you will understand me. Climb Satori Mountain with the little knight. Perhaps you will meet the Lord of the Mountain. Perhaps you will merely feel a sense of peace, a brief rest from your troubles. Both are gifts from Rauru, the Sage of Wisdom.”

“I will remember that.”

Shai swung up and out of the window, disappearing as silently as she had come.

* * *

A full day’s riding brought them to Sanidin Park, a natural preserve where members of the Crown and high-ranking military sometimes retreated to escape the summer heat in Castle Town. Satori Mountain was only an hour’s ride west of the park. What was truly amazing was that Hyrule’s elite hadn’t yet begun to charter tours up onto the mountain, which looked gracious and welcoming even in the rainstorm that greeted Zelda and Link’s approach. Thinking about it more carefully, though, Zelda realized what Shai had been talking around: the mountain was an important place to the Sheikah especially, and they seemed to have taken measures to prevent it being swallowed up by the Crown. She resolved not to speak overmuch about it to her father, no matter what happened when she climbed it.

They stayed in Sanidin that night, renting a four-walled silk tent outfitted with a cooking pot, running water, proper beds, and other amenities. It was not the busy season, and they made friendly conversation with the stable attendants before bedding down.

The bunks in their tent were stacked, just like in most of the places they stayed. As always, Zelda slept in the top bunk, Link in the bottom. The thought of him lying down there— so close she could reach down and touch him— filled her with a peculiar ache. She remembered their night together on the East Akkala Plains in lifelike detail. She squirmed on her blankets, unsleeping.

“Link?”

“Mm?”

“Are you awake?”

“Mm.”

“I can’t stop thinking about Akkala, and how nice it was, and how we…” She swallowed past a lump in her throat. “I wish we could return there. Even though I know we can’t.”

“I knew it would hurt more, after,” he said. His voice was very low. “To go back to the way we were. The way we are.”

“So why did you say yes?” There was no recrimination in her voice. She simply wanted to know.

“I can take a lot of hurting.”

“You don’t regret what we did?”

“Not for myself. But I wonder if it was all right. For you.” There was something uncertain in his voice.

“I’m glad we did it. I wanted my first to be with you.” She screwed her eyes shut, resisting the urge to peek over the edge of her bunk. “Had you ever done— that— before?”

“No. Couldn’t you tell?”

Zelda smiled in the darkness. “Would you… do you think you would do it again?”

There was a long, long pause. Then, “I don’t know.”

She turned over in her covers. She counted longhorn rams.

“Link?”

“Yeah?”

“Did you know that mountain of yours has a name?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s supposed to be a sacred mountain. The spirit of an ancient Sage lives there.”

“Must’ve been that blue deer.” He was very sleepy. She could hear it in his voice.

“The blue deer— you mean the Lord of the Mountain? You saw him?”

“I guess. I took a nap under the cherry tree, and when I woke up there was a blue deer with four eyes staring at me, and when I woke up again he was gone. I didn’t get his name.”

“Why didn’t you say anything? To the king, or…” _To me_ , she didn’t say. 

But Link answered what she did not ask. “You don’t believe in things like that. Anyway, he seemed very private. I didn’t feel like talking about him much.”

“Did… did he speak to you?”

“No. Just blinked a lot.”

“Do you think he’ll mind if I go up the mountain, too?”

“Ask him when we get there. Zelda?”

“Yes, Link?”

“Go to sleep.”

“Yes, Link.”

* * *

Zelda was very subdued as they crossed Nima Plain before dawn the next morning. She’d slept very little, and her mind felt raw and frayed. Link walked beside her, saying nothing as usual. 

They reached the foot of the mountain after only a few hours’ steady walk. Link made her sit and eat some breakfast before they began their ascent, following what looked to be a deer track that wound clockwise around the mountain, rising in altitude gently but steadily.

A little past midday they came upon a small lake of very clear, very deep, very cold water. Surrounding it was a woodland of tall trees whose gracious shade was most welcome after their climb. They sat on a flat rock near the water, munching on wheat-cakes stuffed with herbs and meat. Eating only made Zelda more tired. She stretched out full-length on the rock, her head pillowed on Link’s lap, and dozed.

Link woke her up after only a half hour, brushing her hair off her face with careful fingers.

“You’ll sleep the whole day away,” he said softly, his face only inches from her own, the sunlight glowing in his hair like a halo.

“No I won’t,” she replied, and kissed him. Instead of pulling away as she half-expected him to do, he smiled, his eyes incredibly big and soft, and kissed her right back. 

Even after Zelda rose to her feet, Link remained sitting on the sun-warmed stone. He didn’t seem in any hurry to go. She was straightening her clothes, in no hurry herself, when he reached out and took her hand unexpectedly. 

Zelda opened her mouth to speak, but closed it at once. Link gave her hand a tug, eyes fixed unblinkingly on her face. Her breath hitched at the look he was giving her. She knew, somewhere in the back of her mind, that there were good reasons for them to preserve a disinterested, businesslike relationship. She was still a princess, he her sworn knight. But she could not make herself care about that, and when he reached for the lacings of her stiff white corselet, she helped him. 

Afterward, they lay together for several minutes, boneless, kissing each other lazily. Zelda could easily have stayed like that all day, but Link rallied, hopping to his feet. He immediately tripped over the pants still bunched around his ankles, tumbling face-first into the lake. Zelda couldn’t help laughing at his pratfall, which she suspected him of playing up for her entertainment. Sure enough, in another moment he surfaced, eyeing her slyly; then he hurled his soaking wet trousers at his shrieking companion. How he’d gotten them off underwater, over his boots, she had no idea.

Zelda opted to make her own ablutions in a shallower part of the lake, and by the time she was done, Link had wrung himself out and gotten dressed. He helped her on with her clothes— with not _too_ many distractions. She slung her belt around her hips and checked that the Sheikah Slate was secure, and then they were ready to go. 

They continued up the mountain, hand in hand. Zelda could not stop smiling. Neither could Link. Sometimes they smiled at one another; sometimes, at the trees or the rocks or the sky. When the way grew too steep to walk, Link climbed up and pulled Zelda after him, or else got behind her and lifted. They didn’t talk much, but their silence now was miles away from what it had been this morning. Zelda felt too happy for words. She felt as if there were nothing and no one in the world but her and Link and the creatures of Satori.

It was late afternoon when Link led her through a narrow aperture between two enormous rocks. She stepped out onto a little plateau on the side of the mountain, golden with sunlight.The ground was carpeted with blossoms fallen from a vast cherry tree in rapturous, improbable bloom. Many-colored stones lay like a mosaic at the bottom of a shallow pond of very clear water. Flowers of every color and kind lay thick upon the ground. Zelda ran forward with a low cry of delight, turning around and around, trying to memorize the view, planting the scene like a seed in her mind. She dipped her hands into the water and drank, finding it sweet and bracingly cold. She looked at all the wildflowers, trying to name them but able to identify almost none, though she’d always had a good eye for botany. She did recognize a bunch of wild carrots, the same kind the man at South Akkala Stable had traded to them for dinner. She pulled one from the ground, cleaned it off in the pool of water, and traded bites of it with Link. They found it far sweeter and somehow _wilder_ than other carrots they had tasted. It restored them after their climb better than a hot meal could have done.

The sun was setting in earnest now, igniting the cherry tree with a riot of colors from gold to scarlet to ice green. But the air remained warm and languid, even as the last shreds of daylight blew away in the west. Link and Zelda watched the stars come out, looking for constellations: the Walker, the Darting Fox, the Archer. Zelda’s favorite, the Dragon’s Bite. Link’s favorite, the Egg.

Link spread out his cloak and they lay together on it under the cherry tree, with Zelda’s cloak for a blanket. She rested her head on Link’s arm and nestled her bottom comfortably against him, falling asleep quickly.

She was never quite sure afterward if she woke up in the middle of the night, or only dreamed that she did. She certainly _felt_ awake. She opened her eyes, and pushed back her cloak, and sat up to stretch. The moonlight bouncing off the surface of the pool was tinged with blue. _Was_ that reflected moonlight? Or did it emanate from the water itself?

Zelda stood and walked to the center of the pool, so that it splashed around her thighs. The water was cold, but not uncomfortably so. The blue glow that flickered like tongues of flame all around the glade filled her with a peculiar excitement, not unlike the way she felt when she knew her research was about to surge forward through some invisible barrier. It was the best feeling in the world, a high she’d chased all her life. A particular flicker of light caught her attention, and she stared at it, transfixed: a small glowing creature, something between an owl and a rabbit and a flowerbush. It noticed her and stared back, warily. A friend joined it. Zelda didn’t move, because this was their home and she wished above all to be a respectful guest. 

Their glow was akin to the pallid phosphorescence of luminous stones at night, but more alive somehow. Like the blue of the eyes of the Guardian she had seen taking its first steps. It was, she realized with a jolt of understanding, the color of sentience. She thought that if she could peer into the heart of every woman or man or child or horse or dog or insect on earth, she would see at its center a spark of this blue flame. Its mind, or its memories, or its soul.

She stood watching the convocation of owl-rabbits until they scampered away to pursue other matters, their footsteps sparkling briefly before disappearing as well. Her legs had begun to feel the cold of the water, and she splashed back onto dry land. She felt elated, but also profoundly calm. When she tried to think about what had happened in words and images, she lost it, and the memory became nothing more than a scene of nighttime wildlife-sighting. But if she let go of the tangible facts of the memory, and let her thoughts settle around it, she became aware of its shape, and could reclaim a little of that feeling. She understood, now, why Link had been so reticent to talk about it— and what it must have cost him to describe this place to her father, in front of half a dozen public officials. She lay down once more beside him, and kissed his sleeping eyelids. She took up a blossom that had drifted from the tree, and kissed that too; she kissed the bark of the tree and even the ground she rested on. She would have kissed the moon if she could have reached it.


	11. The Will of the Woman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please forgive the unusually long wait; my internet crapped out for like a week and it's a pain to post from my phone. Hope the wait was worth it!

They made their way back down the mountain in perfect, harmonious peace. Zelda did not ask if Link had seen the Lord of the Mountain. She was not even curious: she knew that he had been with them on Satori, whether he had taken the form of a blue deer or not.

As soon as they reached Nima Plain, Link put his fingers to his lips and blew a piercing three-note whistle so loud that Zelda slapped her hands over her ears to block it. He looked at her sheepishly and shrugged.

“I miss Epona,” he explained.

Laughing, Zelda finished doling out sticks of cured meat. Several minutes later, Epona thundered toward them across the plain, Storm hot on her tail. Zelda was surprised by a rush of love and affection for her stallion. She put aside her food to give him hugs and scratch his strong white neck, and ask him if he’d missed her.

After lunch, they saddled up and got on the road back toward Sanidin Park. Storm seemed happy to be back under Zelda, with a little bounce every few steps that made her giggle. Link watched their antics, one corner of his mouth turned up.

“Be sure to take the time to soothe your mount.’” she quoted, stroking Storm’s glossy mane. “‘That’s the only way it will know how you truly feel.’” She glanced at him. “Your advice was very helpful, and I thank you. This little one and I are getting along quite well now.”

They rode on, Zelda admiring the way the lowering sun caught Storm’s brilliant coat and glittered off his gilded purple livery. “Père gave Storm to me, you know. He named him, too, after some previous Zelda’s steed. I wanted to rename him. I was going to call him Fury. But he ignored me completely when I called him that. He’s always been perfectly-behaved, of course. It’s just that he has his pride, too. I suppose I was a little resentful. At first, I wasn’t even sure if I should outfit him with all of the royal gear. I thought maybe he should have to earn it first. But of course, he wears it like a true natural. The one who really needed to adjust was me, I suppose. But I _am_ trying to adjust. Be a bit more empathetic. Benefit of the doubt, you know?”

Link watched her, saying nothing, golden light shining in the points of his ears and his hair.

“Père was always telling me that I wasn’t trying hard enough, but when I asked him what I could try differently, he could never give me a satisfactory answer. I don’t think he knew, himself. When I was little, you know, we used to be good friends. When Maman was still alive. I was an absolute terror to nannies and tutors, but I loved them both so much. He used to pick me up and toss me in the air, and I pretended I was Naydra flying over Lanayru. And he had the loudest, funniest laugh. It made me laugh just to hear it.”

“What went wrong?” asked Link.

“I don’t really know.” Zelda slumped in her saddle. Storm, feeling the change in her posture, gave a little jog to nudge her back upright. “After Maman died, we were both so unhappy, and suddenly we didn’t know how to be with one another any more. Sometimes, in my darker moments, I wonder if we were ever close at all, or if it was Maman’s influence all along. But I _do_ remember that we used to be happy together. He used to be proud of me. I don’t want to believe that wasn’t real, even if it can never be real again.”

They had reached Sanidin Park. They dismounted, walking along the promenade to catch the setting sun.

“There’s Mount Lanayru,” she said, gazing at the distant blue form. “It takes its name from the goddess of wisdom. Lanayru’s decree is very specific: no one is allowed under the age of seventeen. Only the wise are permitted a place upon the mountain. I’ve prayed at the Spring of Courage and at the Spring of Power, and neither awoke anything inside me. But maybe up there… perhaps the Spring of Wisdom, the final of the three, will be the one. To be honest, I have no real reason to think that will be the case. But there’s always the chance that the next moment will be the one that changes everything.

“Tomorrow is my seventeenth birthday.” She turned away from the setting sun, facing Link. “I will go, and make my way up the mountain. I will pray, and I will mean it. I will try to believe. But Link…”

Link tilted his head, watching her. Zelda took a deep breath, knowing that what she meant to say would change things irrevocably.

“You know what my father means to do if I fail one more time. He will keep me under lock and key, and prevent me from performing any meaningful work ever again. I will not allow that to happen. If I fail on Mount Lanayru, I will not be returning to the castle.”

She could not bring herself to look at his face. She wasn’t ready to see what he must be thinking.

“I’ve thought about it a great deal. I must do what I can to avert the coming darkness, and I cannot do it under my father’s thumb. It will be harder, without the royal aegis to support me. The king will send his people after me, of course. I will outfit myself in plain and serviceable garments, leave behind Storm’s royal gear. I’ll go wherever I am needed, wherever I think I can uncover some new piece of the puzzle. I understand the consequences, of course. I’ll be a fugitive. Worse— my father might call me a traitor to the crown. I may never see any of the Champions again; I could not think of tempting them into disgrace with me, and risk losing all the important progress they have made with the Divine Beasts. I may never see Urbosa again. Or… or _you_.” 

She forced herself to meet his eyes. Link, the Champion whose loss would cut most deeply. The virtuous knight, the servant of the crown, whose senses of duty and honor were as legendary as Zelda’s stubbornness. If he were sent after her, he could not fail. It would be child’s play for him to track her and bring her back. She had thought of this, too. If he decided he could not break his knightly oath— if he found he could not collude in her treasonous insubordination— she would leave him now, this very night. She still had the stealth elixir from Runyo; she would drink it and slip away while he slept. There was no place in Hyrule where she could remain hidden from him indefinitely. If he could not bring himself to swear silence, she would leave Hyrule altogether, and do what she could from abroad. 

“Can I trust you not to tell my father where I have gone?” she finished in a whisper. 

Link regarded her, his eyes terribly sad. “You really think I could abandon you?”

“Not abandon. But I know what your honor means to you. I will not ask you to betray the king, to whom you owe your highest allegiance.”

“My highest allegiance is to you. Will you force me to go?” 

“I will not force you to do anything. But I cannot make a traitor of you, too.”

“If you’re a traitor, I’m a traitor,” he insisted. 

“And break your knightly oath to King Rhoam? Bring disgrace to your name, and heap shame upon your father and sister? Become hated of the crown, and see your name turn to mud in the mouths of the people?”

“The only disgrace would be to break faith with you," he said. "I will not leave you, Zelda.”

Zelda’s eyes closed, and she had to hold onto the balcony to keep from buckling. “You can’t mean that,” she said faintly. She had not dared to dream of this; it was so much to ask of someone so honorable, to whom family was so important. 

“I swore myself to you. I will do it again.” He dropped to one knee before her, and bowed his head. “My fealty is to you. My honor is yours. I will obey your commands above all others. I will serve you with my life, until I have no more life to give. I swear it by the Goddess Hylia. I swear it by the Lord of the Mountain. I swear it by the god of Melanya’s Spring. I swear— I swear it by Epona.”

Heart pounding, Zelda dropped to her knees, too, and took his hands in hers. “I swear that I will devote myself to becoming worthy of your allegiance. As you protect my body, I will protect you from the coming darkness. I will serve you, as I will serve all of Hyrule— no matter the cost to myself. I swear it by my mother’s name.”

He nodded once, accepting her vow. Then he rose to his feet and helped her up, too.

“We should rest. We’ll go to Lanayru, like we planned. After that— we’ll do whatever we have to.”

* * *

The next morning, Link saddled Storm with plain gear from the Sanidin stables. They paused on Safula Hill to hide the royal gear, concealing it under a pile of rocks beneath a tree. Storm did not seem to mind the change, and wore his common saddle and bridle as proudly as ever he’d worn his trappings of purple and gold.

Three nights later, they reached Kakariko Village. Zelda felt a sense of peace and quiet power descend upon her as she and Link walked their horses through the village gate.

They went to the house of the elder Paya, who welcomed them to Kakariko. Then Zelda introduced Link to Impa, who invited the pair to stay with her for as long as they might remain in the village. Impa was tall and athletic, like so many of the Sheikah, but she had dedicated her life more to the study of history than martial arts. She took an immediate liking to Link, quizzing him about the Master Sword over dinner. Afterward, she and Zelda looked at the Sheikah Slate together, trying to penetrate more of its technological secrets. But Zelda soon grew too tired to concentrate, and Impa showed her and Link to the cottage’s sole bedroom, declaring it theirs to use for the duration of their visit. She bade them good night and left for a neighbor’s house, promising to return in the morning.

Impa’s house had running water and a washtub to boot, so while Link laid out a sleeping roll beside the room’s sole bed, Zelda filled the tub and took a bath. She dressed in a spare linen undershirt from her pack, and sat on the bed to braid her hair while Link took his turn in the tub.

As soon as he returned from his ablutions, Zelda blew out the candle. The moonlight shining through the window struck him full on the face, and Zelda looked down at her sworn knight for several minutes before she sighed, turned away, and joined him in slumber.

* * *

They stayed in Kakariko for a week more. On their second day, Shai and Jitan arrived unexpectedly. They brought with them updates on Purah’s research— and something even better which they had picked up on the road

“Mikah!” Zelda shrieked with joy, flinging herself at her childhood friend. She’d grown closer to his height; he’d grown broader in the shoulders, and, impossibly, even more handsome. He hugged her tightly, swinging her in laughing circles. When they finally parted, Mikah noticed Link, who had considerately looked away from their reunion.

“You’ll be Link? Zell’s written lots about you. I’m glad to finally shake the hand of the person who’s saved my friend’s life— on more than one occasion, if half of what she writes is to be believed.”

Impa insisted on feeding all five of them supper that night, although they didn’t all fit in her little house and were instead compelled to sit around her outdoor cookfire. They ate venison stew and carrot pie and drank milk beer long after the stars had come out. Zelda sat beside Mikah, sharing a mug with him. They couldn’t get their words out fast enough; Zelda had forgotten what it was like to converse unreservedly with someone as talkative as herself. There was so much they had never been able to put in their letters. Even Shai and Jitan, normally so reserved, relaxed in the company of their friends. Only Link was quiet, sitting across the fire from Zelda and Mikah. But that was nothing new.

“How goes your grand unified song cycle?” Zelda asked curiously.

“Well, it has a title now. _The Legend of Hyrule_.” He scribed the words in the air over the fire with his chopsticks.

“Does it have any music or lyrics? Or just a title?”

“I was afraid you’d ask that,” he groaned facetiously. “Truth to tell, it’s far from finished; but as soon as it’s complete, I intend to make it famous across all of Hyrule. I’ll have to get more about your adventures while I can. Perhaps your sworn knight will let me interview him? Get the Hero’s perspective?” This last was directed at Link, who took a hasty swallow of beer to avoid answering.

“You’d get more out of me,” smiled Zelda.

“You’d get more out of a stone!” added Impa jocularly, clapping Link on the back. He choked on his beer.

The companions all laughed, even Link.

* * *

The next day, Zelda met with Impa and the researchers in Paya’s residence. Link practiced swordsmanship on the green out front; Zelda could see him through the open front door, sparring with four of Paya’s guards at once. Jitan updated her on the goings-on at the Royal Ancient Tech Lab.

“A properly activated and trained Guardian can differentiate easily between humans and other living creatures, and isn’t fooled by mannequins or cutouts. As soon as a restored Guardian passes our final tests, we send it to a storage courtyard to await assignment. We have about thirty five fully operational, and another hundred in progress. We believe we will be prepared to begin distributing the operational machines to protect population centers soon. In fact, that is why we are here. We’ve come to consult with Impa on the most effective dispersal pattern for the Guardian units. We did not expect to find Your Highness in Kakariko, as well.”

“Link and I are on our way to Mount Lanayru,” said Zelda. 

“I am glad you decided to stop here for a little while,” said Jitan. “Kakariko is honored by your presence.”

“The honor is exclusively mine,” smiled Zelda. “Come, show me what you’ve brought.” They spread the distribution plans across the table and dove into their meeting. To her surprise, the projected dispersal of Guardians did not include Kakariko. Jitan was carefully polite in his explanation.

“His Majesty the King does not feel Kakariko ranks as highly on the vulnerability index as other towns.”

“‘Vulnerability index’? What does that mean?”

“The king has provided us with an algorithm," explained Jitan, "to rank the comparative risk to every population center in Hyrule. It accounts for population size, existing defensive infrastructure, demographic dispersal—”

“Kakariko is one of the most populous towns in Hyrule, yet not one single Guardian has been allotted to protect its inhabitants.”

“His Majesty the King felt,” he said delicately, “that since the Sheikah independently place a high emphasis on martial training, Kakariko is already more prepared than most for any encroaching danger.”

“And did His Majesty the King explain why the castle, which places the highest emphasis of all on martial training and is furthermore outfitted with high-powered artillery, should be allotted a whopping eighteen units?” Zelda could not keep the anger from her voice.

“His Majesty the King assures us his algorithm is sound,” said Jitan tensely. “He has suggested that, once we have restored a higher number of Guardians, one can be sent to Kakariko.”

“This is inexcusable,” fumed Zelda. “The residents of Kakariko are Hyrulean citizens, as much his subjects as anyone in Mabe or Goponga. The Guardians are Sheikah tech! Whatever the Calamity turns out to be, Kakariko should be protected. I will… I…” She stopped, looking down at her hands. There was no promise she could rightly make. She had no power; her word carried no weight with the king.

“We Sheikah are accustomed to being an afterthought in Hylian politics,” said Paya, her voice dry but strong, devoid of emotionality. “Our ways are not like your ways; our gods bear different names and different natures. We built our stronghold in the mountains, and here we have kept ourselves safe for many generations. We will keep ourselves safe for generations to come.”

“The Guardians are only possible because of your efforts, ancient and modern. It is not right that none should be sent to stand sentry on your village.”

“Who will make it happen?” asked Paya. “Will you change the king’s mind?”

Zelda hung her head. “If I could, I would.” It was a feeble answer which filled her with shame.

“As you cannot, it is better to think instead on what you _can_ do. As we Sheikah have always done. There is no value in wishing for what one cannot have.”

“Yes, you’re right,” said Zelda humbly. “I apologize for my outburst. I will take your words to heart.”

* * *

Her birthday was marked with another feast, more singing, plenty of food and drink. She wore a dress borrowed from Impa, comprising many layers of vari-colored fabric cinched tightly at the waist with a braided belt. Mikah performed a song he’d written for her, so filled with praise that she blushed the whole way through. Then there was an evening of dancing and laughter. Zelda resolutely pushed away all thoughts of Lanayru, of what might happen— or not happen— on the mountain in a few days. She ignored altogether the likelihood that she would be a fugitive from the crown in a couple of weeks. She laughed and danced and even sang a duet with Mikah, as they’d done when they were children. His voice, more deeply expressive than ever, still had the power to send shivers down her spine. His years on the road hadn’t been wasted.

“It was kind of you to leave me the easy parts,” she said when they were finished. 

“Your Highness is as charming a singer as when you were a little girl,” he said, raising his cup to her.

“Is that a nice thing to say to an old friend?” laughed Zelda.

“Well, you haven’t gotten any _worse_ ,” he amended, grinning roguishly. “Here, I’ll refill your cup. No dregs for the birthday woman.”

Link watched the proceedings with his usual intentness, remaining apart from the fun. Zelda brought him a mug of beer, which he declined, as she’d known he would. She offered him a dried apple cake, which he gobbled up in two enthusiastic bites. 

“Come with me,” she said. “I want to give you something.” She led him a little outside the circle of light cast by the lanterns on the green.

“But it’s _your_ birthday,” he pointed out.

“Yours is in three days and three hours,” she said. “And as we’ll be on the road in three days and three hours, I thought… well. Here.”

She handed him a little parcel of waxed paper tied with a purple ribbon. Link unwrapped it slowly, careful not to tear the paper. When he saw what the package contained, his whole face lit up.

“Courser candy!” he exclaimed. 

“I wrote a letter to your sister, asking for the recipe. She was very sweet. And...thorough. She left no detail out, right down to what kind of spoon to use, how many times to stir it and in what direction.”

“That’s Naia for you,” he agreed. “She’s a perfectionist.”

“Well, I’m glad she is. The recipe worked exactly as she said it would. Go ahead, have a piece. I want to know if it tastes as you remember.”

Link obligingly put a piece of the honey in his mouth, tucking it into his cheek like a chipmunk. He closed his eyes, savoring it.

“Tastes like home,” he said thickly. “It’s the nicest present I can imagine. Thank you, Zelda.”

“You’re very welcome, Link.” She felt almost too happy for words, seeing his pleasure in so simple a gesture.

“I have a present for you, too,” he said. “We have to go into the shadows, though.” He led her into the narrow space between two houses. Zelda smiled, wondering what sort of gift he might have in mind that necessitated so much privacy. “Close your eyes,” he instructed.

She obeyed, tingling with anticipation. “Open,” he said softly.

Zelda opened her eyes and gasped. In his hand was a Silent Princess, luminescent as a tiny moon. Mesmerized, Zelda bent closer to the lovely blossom, inhaling its evasive fragrance.

“I’ve never seen one in the nighttime,” she breathed, touching her finger delicately to one shining pointed petal. “I’d no idea they could do this. It’s… it’s _alive_.” 

“I found it that day on Satori Mountain. It was just a bud, uprooted by a mountain buck. I didn’t know if it would survive, but I washed the roots in that pond under the cherry tree and wrapped it in moss to keep fresh. It seemed to like that, but it didn’t open up until today.”

“You’ve been carrying it with you all this time?”

“I wanted to keep it safe.”

Zelda closed her eyes again. The flower shone as an afterimage blazing against the blackness of her eyelids. She kissed each of the flower’s five petals, carefully. She felt Link’s finger under her chin, tilting her face toward his. He pressed his lips very gently to hers. He tasted of wild honey.

“Happy birthday, Zelda,” he whispered.

“Happy birthday, Link.” 

He tucked the flower into the braid Zelda had wound about her crown.

“How do I look?” she asked.

“So pretty I want to eat you,” he said sincerely.

“You want to eat everything.” But she glowed as brightly as the flower at the compliment.

They lingered in the shadows for as long as they thought they could get away with. Then, with one or two false starts, they returned to the party. Impa immediately swept Link into a dance to which he knew not a single step.

“Is that what I think it is?” asked Mikah from beside her. “I’ve never seen one in person before.”

“Isn’t it lovely?”

“The loveliest,” he said fervently. “Present from Link?”

“How did you know?”

Mikah smiled ruefully. “Lucky guess, I guess. He understands you, doesn’t he?” 

“He’s smarter than he lets on.”

“He doesn’t let on much. But it’s clear he knows that you’re the most important thing in the world. Any idiot can see that, just from the way he looks at you. Even an idiot like me.”

Mikah shut his eyes, and when he opened them again they had grown determined.

“I’m going to Hebra,” he said, “to live in an ice cave and work on my song cycle. I’m leaving very early in the morning, so I’ll say goodbye to you now.”

Zelda’s face fell. “Oh, but Mikah…”

“Happy birthday, Zell.” He kissed her once, very tenderly, on the cheek. Then he turned and walked into the darkness.

Zelda watched her oldest friend go. There were so many things she longed to tell him, which she could not possibly say now. Mikah was so kind, so passionate and clever, so unutterably dear to her. She’d had the most fearful crush on him not very long ago. If things had been different— if their timing had been different—

But the situation could not be altered, and Zelda now faced a frightening and unknowable path. She tucked the thought of Mikah away in a safe and private corner of her mind, to think about when all this was over.

* * *

They left town two days after, pausing in the woods above Kakariko where a Great Fairy seedpod lay half-hidden by weeds. Link used the tip of the Master Sword to dig a hole in the rich soil under a tree. Zelda placed her Silent Princess into the hole, patting the soil around its roots carefully, and watered it from her drinking skin. 

She got down on her hands and knees to take one last look at it, committing the lovely thing to memory. “Grow and thrive,” she whispered to it as if it could hear. “You belong out here in the wild. I’ll come back to check on you someday— when the world is safe again.”

They traversed the Lanayru Promenade that day and spent the night at the East Gatehouse. The next day, they left at sunrise. The icy peak of Lanayru was a treacherous place for a horse, and so instead they proceeded on foot, leaving their horses stabled at the Gatehouse. They made for the eastern side of Naydra Snowfield and stopped partway up Lanayru at Sunset. Link built a fire in the shelter of some trees, and they both changed into the cold-weather garments they had brought in their packs. They slept cuddled in each other’s arms, and went on as soon as it was light again.

The path up the mountain was broad and well-laid, but had not been maintained over the years. Furthermore, the way was polluted by ice keese and white chu, with occasional evidence of recent lizalfos activity. Link was on high alert, walking close to Zelda with his hand on the hilt of the Master Sword at all times, a quiver of fire arrows at the ready on his back. Other than a brief run-in with a frostbitten stone pebblit, however, they ascended the mountain without incident.

The peak was littered with crystalline ice columns that caught the lowering sun like jewels. The light reflected mesmerically off the surface of the Spring of Wisdom, which was open to the sky. Yet despite the beauty of the scene, Zelda found the unrelieved blueness of the air oddly oppressive. She longed for Kakariko’s warm tones, or the sun-baked browns and golds of the Faron Grasslands.

“Here,” said Link, offering Zelda a thimble-sized phial of shimmering red fire elixir. “I made you the most potent formulation I could manage. It will last you the night.”

Zelda shot back the potion in one throat-searing gulp that made her eyes water. Immediately she began sweating through her heavy furs. She stripped out of her clothes and handed them to Link, then pulled her white shift on over her head. She stood for a moment with Link on the little stone platform under its arching stone roof, steeling herself. She stepped into the icy water.

Even with the fire potion warming her blood, the water was cold on her bare feet, and she had to force herself to wade further in. There was a raised stone path leading to the statue, so that she was only in water up to her ankles. But out from under the shelter of the gazebo where Link stood guard, she was exposed to the wind and snow of Lanayru’s peak. The sky overhead was leaden.

“Goddess Hylia,” Zelda began. “I… I don’t think this will work the way Père expects it to.” She paused. She already knew what would happen. She took a deep breath. She tried again.

“Maman. Grandmère. Every ancestor who shared my name, who struggled as I struggle. Maman. _Maman_. What did you learn? What did the struggle teach you? What was your suffering worth?”

Her feet were not cold anymore. Her hands clutched the front of her white garment, creasing it.

“There is a saying Père is fond of: ‘A drop of sweat will save a river of blood.’ A meritorious sentiment, and true most of the time! But I can never make the math work out; I always reach a different answer. A river of tears for a river of blood. If there is power, it must come from somewhere. If I am to save them all, I must pay for it in full.”

Her hands were sweaty; her face, too. Snow stuck to her and melted, soaking her gown as completely as if she had immersed herself in the Spring.

“I have already decided what I must do. If there is power, I am determined to find it. I don’t yet know what it may look like. But I shall need all three of your aspects to awaken it. Courage, strength, and wisdom. I may not have these things yet. But I have what I have always had; I have my will. I shall turn it to good purpose. I shall exert it to protect these people, _your_ people. And— I suspect— I shall cross a river of tears before it is done.”

She sank to her knees and gazed up at the carven stone face for she knew not how long. She let her thoughts swirl and eddy through her mind, sifting, waiting for them to settle until one thought alone remained like a grain of purest gold. 

“Goddess Hylia,” she said, “give me what help you can spare. But if you cannot, or will not— then I will do it myself. They are not just your people. They are my people, too.”

“Zelda,” said Link quietly. He was kneeling beside her in the frigid Spring. “Zelda, the elixir is wearing off.”

“You said it would last for hours.”

“It did. The sun’s coming up. You prayed all night.”


	12. Calamity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting double today so as not to break momentum for these two very important chapters! Make sure to check out chapter 13 next, and thanks for sticking with me!

They went back down the mountain, faster in the descent than they had been going up. They made early camp near the base, and slept deeply and long. They crossed Naydra Snowfield, but instead of immediately turning toward the East Gate, they made a detour to Purifier Lake. There was something Zelda wanted to do.

She took off her travelling garb and changed back into her shift. She waded into the lake and washed herself, scrubbing her skin pink with handfuls of clean sand from the shoreline. She dunked her head under the water and rinsed her hair. “People used to come here to consecrate themselves to the Goddess, or to the Triforce, or to the ancient Sages. I’m consecrating myself to Hyrule.”

They ate a quick lunch, then got on the road to the Gate. Zelda walked in her white gown, letting it dry in the afternoon sun. “We will have to leave behind our Champion’s blues,” she said. “We can trade them for travelers’ garb. After we’ve retrieved Storm and Epona, we will make for the Great Plateau. There are secrets buried in the library at the Eastern Abbey which may be of inestimable value; I didn’t have time to do more than scratch the surface last time I was there. From the Abbey, I will contrive to send an encoded message to Shai. I’ll have to risk telling her a little, and trust that we can keep ahead of the consequences. She would not voluntarily turn us in, and I doubt the king will think to monitor her as he likely will Robbie and Purah, or the Champions. And there are things we’ll need to learn from the castle as the situation evolves.” 

“Is that Daruk?” Link asked, squinting into the distance.

Zelda took out the Sheikah Slate and used it to zoom in on the Gate. Link was right. And it wasn’t just Daruk— Urbosa, Revali and Mipha stood in a line beside him, waiting for the princess and her sworn knight.

“It’s as if they knew,” she said. “How did they know? Did my father send them to… to bring me back?”

“Look at them,” said Link, putting his hand on her shoulder briefly. “They are wearing your favors, not his. I’ve known Mipha since I was a kid. You’ve known Urboa since birth. Is there no way you can trust them?”

“I trust them,” said Zelda. “I do. But I can’t ask them to lie to their king. They mustn’t know what we’re planning.”

Daruk greeted Zelda and Link in his usual gruff, jolly tone. “Well? Don’t keep us in suspense. How’d everything go up there on the mountain?”

Zelda simply shook her head.

“So you didn’t feel anything?” asked Revali. “No power at all?”

“I’m sorry, no.” 

“Then let’s move on,” said Urbosa briskly. “You’ve done all you could. Feeling sorry for yourself won’t change anything. After all, it’s not like your last shot was up there on Mount Lanayru. Anything could finally spark the power you seek. We just have to keep looking for that… thing.”

“That’s kind of you,” said Zelda weakly. Why were they so good to her? They were not making this any easier. “Thank you.” 

Mipha stepped forward and cleared her throat. “If I may…?” she said, her clear, high voice more hesitant than usual. “I thought you… well, I’m not sure how to put this into words… I’m actually quite embarrassed to say it. But I was thinking about what I do when I’m healing. You know, what usually goes through my mind. It helps when I think— when I think about—”

But what Mipha thought they never found out. The earth suddenly trembled, sending the six companions reeling. Only Link’s quick arms around her kept Zelda on her feet. It might have been an earthquake, nothing more, save for the terrible scream that rent the sky. It was the scream of a beast driven by pain to madness. The howl went on and on, louder every second, a sound not heard with the ears but felt with the blood, the eyeballs, the teeth. 

It was coming from the castle. 

Revali spread his wings and darted into the sky, his sharp eyes on Central Hyrule. When he returned to the ground, his face was grim. 

“It’s here,” said Urbosa. It was not a question.

Daruk pounded the fist of one hand into the other palm. “This is it, then.”

“Are you sure?” asked Mipha anxiously.

“Positive,” answered Revali, sounding odd without his usual swagger. There was no mistaking it: already a roiling cloud of livid, poisonous hue was growing in the northwest, visible over Lanayru Heights. 

“It’s awake,” Zelda murmured. She could not seem to get enough air in her lungs. “Ganon.” 

It was real. Ganon was real. 

_Ganon was real_.

“Let’s stop wasting time!” burst out Daruk. “We’re gonna need everything we got to take that thing down. Now, Champions! To your divine beasts! Show that swirling swine who’s boss! Link will need to meet Ganon head on when we attack. This needs to be a unified assault. Little guy, you get to Hyrule Castle. You can count on us for support, but it’s up to you to pound Ganon into oblivion!”

Yes. Link. The Master Sword. It was not over.

Urbosa put her arms around Zelda’s shoulders. “Come,” she said firmly. “We should go. We need to get you someplace safe.”

Zelda felt a bubble of hysterical laughter attempt to break free. That cloud was growing fast, moving against the wind, pulsating with its own monstrous heartbeat. Where was _safe?_

“No,” said Zelda, forcing the word past her numb lips. “No. I’m not a child anymore. I may not be much use on the battlefield, but there is something I can do to help.”

“Your Highness must remember—” began Revali, but Zelda cut him off. Blood was returning to her frozen lips. Reason was returning to her mind.

“Link must get to the castle. I will go with him.”

The outcry was immediate.

“Your Highness, you can’t even consider—!”

“It’s out of the question!”

“The castle is taken,” insisted Revali. “You would be running straight into the beast’s jaws.”

“If the beast tries to swallow me, I will stick in its throat!” she said fiercely. “Even if the castle has fallen, there are yet thousands of souls in the town. I will not abandon them. While Link engages Calamity Ganon, I will aid with the evacuation. If your goal is to help and not to hinder, get to your Divine Beasts. _Now!_ ”

She did not wait for them to make up their minds. A single, brief look passed between her and Link, and they ran for the Gatehouse where soldiers were already mobilizing. They sprinted for the stables, where Storm and Epona were dancing with eagerness to be freed from confinement. Moments later, they were galloping down the Promenade, back toward Kakariko.

Never had Zelda ridden so hard. She leaned over Storm’s neck, urging him onward, praising him with all her heart. His hooves clattered like cannonballs on the smooth stone causeway. Zelda expected every moment to be thrown off, but he knew how to keep her safely on his back.

It took them under three hours to reach Kakariko, a third of the time they’d taken coming out. Paya had been expecting them, posting Impa at the upper end of the Village to meet them. They left their horses with a Sheikah veterinary healer and raced to Paya’s house.

“Eat this,” ordered Paya, pushing bowls of meat and mushrooms toward them. “Made with ironshrooms. It will toughen you against the dangers ahead. My man will give you Swift Carrot pellets for your horses. Use them, but be careful: you can push yourselves and your beasts beyond the limits of nature, but not forever. Eventually, balance must be upheld.”

“Thank you, Paya. We are grateful for your assistance.”

Shai and Jitan came in while they were eating.

“Good. You’re here,” said Jitan.

“Only for a moment,” said Zelda. “We are headed for the castle to… to offer what aid we can.”

“Would Your Highness welcome an additional escort?”

“By all means. We have, as yet, no reckoning of the dangers that await us on the road.”

They spared another fifteen minutes so that Shai and Jitan could accumulate what supplies they thought they might need, while Link stocked up on arrows. Then they were on the road again, thundering toward Dueling Peaks.

It was on Blatchery Plain that they saw the first Guardians. Zelda didn’t understand what she was looking at, at first: it was the middle of the night, and her senses were all confused. But what threw her the most was the Guardians themselves, their veins were no longer friendly blue but an angry, corrupt purple. There were two on Blatchery Plain, and they had targeted the Fort Exchange, shooting beams of destruction wherever they saw people moving.

Zelda screamed. The sound was swallowed by the night.

“Jitan! Shai!” she shouted. “I’ve seen you take down Guardians with little more than your wits. Do you think you can immobilize these two rogue machines while we proceed to the Castle?”

“As Your Highness commands!” The pair peeled off into the blackness of the plain, and Zelda and Link urged their horses onward to Dueling Peaks.

Why had those two Guardians been in Blatchery? What had led to their hideous defection? Was there some flaw in their protocols that had caused them to go haywire? Guardian technology had not yet been tested in the field; Zelda could only pray that these two were an isolated case.

Riding through Dueling Peaks, she had her answer.

Already they had begun to ride against a stream of refugees from nearby settlements, dragging hand-carts along with them. Link rode ahead of Zelda through the pass, in case of ambush in this narrow space. They had almost reached the far side of the pass when the refugees ahead of them began to scream, dropping their packs and breaking into a terrified stampede.

“Stay here,” Link shouted at Zelda, and spurred Epona ahead. Zelda urged Storm along the bank of the Squabble River, following Link. She saw him leap from Epona’s back and fire an arrow straight into the glowing eye of a crawling Guardian. The machine recoiled, its head spinning in circles before it zeroed in on its attacker. Zelda watched helplessly as its eye found Link, focused, charged. It released a burst of energy, too fast to see. Link parried the beam of light with his shield, reflecting it straight back at the Guardian, which shuddered and creaked and fell sideways into the Squabble. Zelda sucked in a burning lungful; without noticing, she hadn’t breathed since Link rode ahead.

When she came up, he was giving instructions to the small group of refugees who had surrounded him.

“If you’ve got arrows or spears, aim for their eyes,” he was saying. “If one shoots at you, get your shield up and push the shot back in its face. If you don’t have a shield, use whatever you can find. A pot lid, even. Anything to break up the beam.”

“Link. We have to keep moving.”

Link jumped back onto Epona. “Shields up, and aim for their eyes. Spread the word,” he called over his shoulder, and spurred Epona into a gallop, Storm and Zelda following on their heels.

They passed by the turnoff to Deya Village. Zelda didn’t mean to look— didn’t _want_ to look— couldn’t help but look.

Deya was burning. The flow of Deyan refugees into Dueling Peaks Pass had slowed to a trickle. The air smelled of ashes and meat.

Storm skipped a step, trying to keep her on his back. Zelda closed her eyes against the sight of Deya burning in the distance, and rode on.

* * *

The ride north across Hyrule Field was unlike anything Zelda had ever experienced before. They turned off the road just after Proxim Bridge, skirting the East Post where the garrison was hard under attack. Every road they crossed on their mad sprint to the castle was clogged with refugees; sometimes, they had to pause so that Link could destroy a pursuing Guardian while Zelda gave what assistance she could to the fleeing citizens. She ran out of healing elixirs after an hour, and had nothing to offer but bandages torn from her underdress and sips of water from her drinking skin. Link and Zelda were running on pure, terrified adrenaline. Storm and Epona were exhausted, their gait uneven despite the swift carrot pellets Link and Zelda fed to them. 

Even in daytime, the sky was choked by noxious vapors that blotted out the sun. The closer they got to the castle, the fewer living souls they passed. Toward the end of their journey, there were no longer any evacuees to help. The Beast circled around the castle turrets in an obscene dance. Every time it punctured the air with its grotesque howls, Storm stumbled beneath Zelda. She prayed to the god of Melanya’s Spring for her horse, stroked his mud-and-sweat-streaked hide, praised him, begged him for just a little more. His eyes rolled around in his head, and he tried to give her what she asked for, but he was so tired, almost too tired even to panic anymore. 

It took them eight hours to reach the East Gate of Castle Town. After passing by the devastated ruins of Lolon Branch and nearby Mabe, Zelda steeled herself for what waited at the capital; but nothing could prepare her for what she found.

Where Castle Town had been, there was nothing. Even the stone structures were obliterated; anything made of wood or fabric— the vendors’ stalls, the merchants’ tents— was no more than ash on the wind.

There were not even any bodies. Not anymore.

Zelda dropped from Storm’s back, falling to her hands and knees on the blackened ground. Shards of glass dug into her palms; floating embers singed holes in the filthy gown she still wore

“Did no one make it out?” she gasped. “Did no one survive?”

“We don’t know that,” said Link, hauling her to her feet. “We can’t stay here, Zelda. I have to get into the castle, and you have to get somewhere safer.”

“The Divine Beasts… They should have mobilized by now,” Zelda said, pulling out the Sheikah Slate and training it on Death Mountain. She scanned the skyline for some sign of Vah Rudania. It was hard to make out anything in this unnatural twilight.

The shadows on Death Mountain shivered and shifted. There was a grating movement against the mountain slopes, Vah Rudania’s familiar gait. A flash of fuschia, like the light that filled the Guardians.

Rudania had been taken.

Zelda turned the Slate back toward Lanayru. Vah Ruta was a purple spark in the distant hills. Vah Meddoh hovered over Tabantha, wreathed in poisonous mist. 

Zelda returned the Slate to its pouch without looking for Vah Naboris.

“The Divine Beasts are taken,” she said numbly. 

“Then I will fight the Beast alone,” said Link, drawing the Master Sword. “But first you _have to go_.”

“No. You can’t face Ganon without help. Link, it will kill you!”

“Probably. _Go_ , Zelda!”

There was a scream from behind them. A Guardian patrolling the wreckage had stalked close enough to shoot a bolt at them, but it had struck Storm instead. Link tossed Zelda behind a ruined wall and faced off against the Guardian. He got his shield up just in time to destroy the Guardian with a rebound.

Storm lay in a heap on the ground, eyes staring lifelessly. Zelda stared down at her beautiful mount, her loyal friend, and did not weep.

“I must— I must get to the survivors,” she gulped. “They’ll be headed to Fort Hateno. I have to protect them, Link. I have to give them a chance.”

Link scanned Hyrule Field, assessing the safest route through the teeming, tainted Guardians. 

“You ride Epona,” he decided. “I’ll run alongside.”

“You haven’t slept in twenty-four hours. How can you possibly—”

“I have the courser candy for stamina,” he said. “You’d better have some, too. You’re falling over. We’ll travel along the bank of the Hylia River, take cover in the woods. Come on, Zelda. Let’s move.”

He placed a piece of honey candy in her mouth and took another for himself. It did help, more than Zelda had expected. She felt something like vigor returning to her drained limbs as she mounted Epona, who adjusted quickly to the unaccustomed rider. Link ran beside them, Master Sword on his back, bow and arrow at the ready. They avoided Guardians as much as possible, but Link was forced to dispatch one with a rebound that broke his shield. 

Guardians were not the only danger they encountered. Hylia River was thick with lizalfos, identifiable by their v-shaped wakes. Link and Zelda kept under cover of the trees so that the lizalfos would not notice them, but enemies in the underbrush made even this dangerous. While pausing to catch their breaths and restore themselves with courser candy, a chu bulged out of the ground beneath Epona’s feet, startling her. She did not whinny, but she danced away a few steps, her hooves plashing quietly in the running water. This was enough to catch the attention of a lizalfos concealed in the current. In the time it took Link to push Zelda out of the way of the attacker, the lizalfos had torn Epona’s throat out with its teeth. The mare went down kicking, and stove in her assailant’s reptilian skull even as she died.

“You’ll have to go on foot now,” said Link, gazing down at his dead mount expressionlessly. 

“Link, I’m so sorry—”

“We should keep moving. Can you run?”

Zelda nodded miserably. The courser honey was working, giving her the strength to go on. But there was a black void in her chest that made it hard to breathe. A dismal rain began to fall, turning the riverbank into a gash of mud. Link took Zelda’s hand, steadying her on the slippery bank, pulling her ever onward. Her legs moved without input from her brain. Her eyes were blind to the passing trees, the blur of rain. All her senses had narrowed down to the one point of contact between her and Link. 

She tripped on an exposed tree-root and crashed to the ground, slipping from his grasp. Without his touch tethering her, the blackness inside her spread and grew, threatening to swallow the whole world.

“How… how did it come to this?” Her voice was eaten up by the pounding rain. Link sheathed the Master Sword, kneeling before her.

“The Divine Beasts… the Guardians… they’ve all turned against us. It— Calamity Ganon— it turned them all against us. Now everyone— Mipha, Urbosa, Revali and Daruk— they’re trapped inside those _things_ —“

She couldn’t hold the black void at bay any longer. The disastrous reality could not be denied.

“It’s _all my fault!_ ” She choked on the words, choked on the blackness, choked on the truth. She buried her face in her hands. “Our only hope of defeating Ganon is lost, all because I wouldn’t harness this accursed power! Everything— everything I’ve done up till now— it was all for nothing! I really am what he said— I really am just a failure! All my friends, the _entire kingdom_ , my father— I failed them all!”

Link gazed at her steadily, his eyes soft and sorrowful. She had killed his friends, killed his father, killed Epona. He should hate her. He must hate her. Why wouldn’t he just _hate her?_

“I’ve left them all to _die_.” She crumpled, wailing like an infant in his arms. He stroked her rain-soaked hair, took her face gently in his hands. He brushed his thumb across her tear-streaked cheeks, kissed her swollen eyelids. He was so good. He was too good. He was too good to live.

“Hate me,” she demanded, her voice rising to a shout. “ _Hate me!_ ”

“No,” he said quietly. 

“Please!”

“No.”

“You know what I am, what I’ve done! You should hate me, you should leave— _please_ , before I kill you, too!”

“No.”

“Why are you being so difficult?” she screamed, beating his chest with her fists. “The king is dead, the capital is fallen! I could have prevented it all— Don’t you understand? _I’m the one who did this_.” He made no attempt to avoid her blows. She clawed at his face, drawing blood. “Why are you still here? Go, go to Hateno, protect whoever is left, I release you! You are no longer my sworn knight, _I release you!_ ”

“I don’t release _you_ ,” he said stubbornly. “You swore an oath, too, remember? You swore to serve all of Hyrule, whatever the cost. You swore by your mother’s name!”

Zelda felt all the blood leave her face. Slowly she lowered her hands, staring at them like they didn’t belong to her. She had struck him. She had struck her sworn knight, her best friend, the last person in the world she had left to love.

“I’m sorry,” she said hollowly. “I don’t— I’m sorry.”

Link wrapped his hands around hers. He helped her to her feet. “We have to keep moving,” he said. “We have to get to Hateno before the Guardians do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To work out the logistics of travel in BOTW, I went into the game, put on Majora's Mask so monsters wouldn't bother me, and rode the routes I was sending Link and Zelda on. I used a combination of gaits (I didn't just have them gallop the whole way because a real horse couldn't handle that) and included rest stops, giving me an accurate picture of the scale of travel across Hyrule. I gotta say, this map holds up! It's beautifully scaled so that you can reasonably travel from one stable to the next in about a day of steady riding (8-10 hours); Hyrule is bigger than it looks because time passes faster there than it does in real life-- if that makes any sense. I wish every fandom I wrote for had such a beautifully-designed interactive map to go with it.
> 
> One of the things I learned is that, by the time we get to Memory #16, they've been awake and moving for about 34 hours straight since breaking camp in Naydra the day before. I base this number on the time trials I did in game, the course I figured made the most sense to get them in position for Despair, and narrative judgment. 34 hours, and they're not even to Blatchery yet. These poor kids, somebody please help them.


	13. The Will of the Goddess

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the second of a double-post. Make sure you've read Chapter 12 before proceeding, and thanks for reading!

They ran for hours— perhaps for days. Link picked up arrows from fallen soldiers they passed near. He took a shield from a dead woman and strapped it, still sticky with her blood, to his left arm. Whenever Zelda’s steps began to lag, Link made her stop and eat a piece of courser candy until she could keep going. The straps of her sandals rubbed her feet and ankles raw; her breath burned in her lungs, the rain blinded her like acid. They swam across Hylia River clinging to half-burned timber, to avoid having to go near the East Post which still crawled with enemies. Lizalfos patrolled the Squabble river between the Dueling Peaks. 

“Drink this,” said Link, offering Zelda the purple phial Runyo had given them a lifetime ago in exchange for a hot dinner. “Stealth elixir. It won’t do you any good if they see you, so walk as quietly as you can. Stay in the shadows.”

“Isn’t there enough for you?”

“You need it more. Hurry, it has to last you as far as the Fort.” 

Unspoken in both their minds was the fear that a Guardian would surprise them in the pass where there was nowhere to hide, no way to escape.

They needn’t have worried. There was no one left alive on the path through Dueling Peaks.

They picked their way over bodies that had already lain there for many hours. Zelda clapped her hand over her mouth to keep from retching at the sight and smell of so much human carnage. Dueling Peaks formed a natural bottleneck, which the Guardians had taken full advantage of. It had been a bloodbath. 

Ahead, they saw flames, heard sounds of distant fighting. It was hard to believe anyone was still alive in all of Hyrule. Across the Big Twin Bridge they found chaos: the Dueling Peaks Stable was in flames, but someone had freed the horses first, and they ran in panicked groups. There were one or two live Guardians patrolling Blatchery Plain, but most were dead or deactivated. The Exchange was long gone, no longer even smoking after the torrential rains. Zelda had lost track of the time— she thought it might be morning, but the sky was clogged by clouds of ash and she could not even tell the direction of the sun. 

“This way,” said Link. “Bubinga Forest will offer a little cover; we can—”

There was an explosion in the trees ahead of them. Link spun around, bringing his shield to bear. Guardians swarmed like locusts from the pass behind them, crawling across Big Twin Bridge in vast numbers. One had spotted them, taken aim. It fired off another beam which rebounded off Link’s shield, so close Zelda felt the heat of it singe her arm hairs.

“Stealth won’t help us now,” shouted Link. “Cut through the Exchange, make straight for the Fort,” Zelda turned and ran, Link hot behind her. Red sight-lines swept the field, narrowly missing her most times, catching her other times. Link destroyed Guardian after Guardian. He fired his last bowshot, grabbed for an arrow that wasn’t there and had to dive to avoid a bolt. He was drawing the Master Sword when an arrow came out of nowhere, striking the Guardian in the eye and sending its head spinning long enough for Link to dispatch its owner with the sword.

“There’s a sight for sore eyes,” said a voice, hoarsened by smoke and fatigue but familiar nonetheless.

“Jitan!” yelped Zelda. “You’re alive!”

“Too busy to die! Shai and I figured we’d keep Blatchery clear for the refugees until backup arrived. But you brought the wrong army, Your Highness!” 

“There is no more army,” said Zelda grimly. “It’s just us. We have to find a way to barricade the Fort. We’re Hateno’s only hope.”

“Get to the gate as fast you can. We’ll keep them distracted!” Jitan darted in the direction of the nearest enemy. Link and Zelda kept on toward the gate at the far end of the field. The rain thickened, stinging their eyes as they ran.

They were racing through the wreckage of the Fort Hateno Exchange when they were cornered by a pair of Guardians acting in tandem. With no more arrows left Link had no choice but to kill them with rebounds from his shield; if he got close enough to use the Master Sword on one, the other would target Zelda. His strength was flagging, she could see; he was so tired his arms shook. But he took down one, took down the second. More were coming, converging from every side. He raised his shield. An octorok lobbed a stone at them from halfway across the field. Link parried exhaustedly, the blow knocking him to his knees.

The shield shattered.

“Keep running,” he grunted, leaning on the Master Sword, struggling to rise. Zelda hooked her hands under his arms and pulled, but her depleted strength was far from sufficient to haul him to his feet. Another Guardian prowled closer and closer in the rain; it would notice them at any moment. 

He was going to die. The void was opening in her chest again, larger than before, black and stale as a tomb.

“Link, save yourself— go!” she begged. The blackness grew, spreading in her like a poison. She knew with a fatal certainty that if Link died in front of her eyes the blackness would consume her; she would belong to it. Flickers of livid purple danced around the corners of her vision. Purple figures teased at the corners of her mind: Link dying violently in her arms; herself, given over to the blackness, finishing what Ganon had begun, killing everyone who dared to live when the Hero of Hyrule did not. She would be lost to the light forever.

“Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine,” she pleaded, desperate to avert the future that was playing itself on a loop in her mind. If he did not die, the blackness would not take her, she would not fail her people this final time. If he did not die— he _must not die—_ “Run!” 

The Guardian had spotted them. Link staggered to his feet, swaying where he stood. He had no shield to raise, no arrows. His lips were moving, but no sound came out. He thrust Zelda behind him with one arm and raised the Master Sword in the other. The Guardian fixed its sight on him, a line of red from its eye to his heart. Its aim was true, it could not miss— 

Zelda shoved Link aside with sudden, surprising force, raising her right hand against the Guardian. She had no plan. She had no strength. She had nothing. In the center of her chest there was blackness. 

In the center of the blackness was a single spark of light. 

She held his face in her mind— laughing in the bright Akkala sun, grief-stricken after Deya, worshipful on Satori. More faces joined it: Shai and Jitan, Mikah, Urbosa. Daruk and his brothers, Mipha, arrogant Revali. Every face they had passed in their travels; every refugee they had saved and failed to save. Her mother, solemn and joyful and wise.

The spark at Zelda’s core exploded into a ball of pure white, surging outward in seismic waves that struck the Guardians blind and motionless. On her right hand was seared a Triforce, burning her skin like molten gold. Power swept through her, and a bright, devastating love for every soul who had ever lived and breathed in Hyrule. They were _hers_. She loved them as she loved her own life. 

And she had the power, finally, to keep them safe.

No Guardians remained alive in Blatchery. She lowered her arm and the blaze of light dimmed, though she could feel the power still surging within her. She stared at her hand, where the golden Triforce was already fading.

There was a thud behind her. Zelda spun around: Link lay curled on his side, the Master Sword still clutched in one hand, unmoving.

“No. No! Link, get up!” She rushed to his side, heaving him upright. He coughed weakly, somehow gravelly and wet at the same time. A bubbling, grinding sound accompanied his breaths, which were too shallow and too far apart. His grip on the Master Sword slackened and he lay as dead weight in Zelda’s arms. 

“You’re going to be just fine,” said Zelda, she hoped reassuringly. He shot her a look of such insolent unbelief that she almost laughed— but the laughter died in her throat as his head rolled back, his last strength spent. His eyes drifted closed. His heart— his heart was not beating.

Zelda bent over him, trying to steady herself, struggling to breathe. She knew now what she had to do to save Hyrule, but she needed him alive to do it. He could not die, not now, not after everything.

There was a bright sound like the scraping of steel against stone. A dim flicker illuminated the Master Sword. The sound repeated, and this time, it hissed words in a language Zelda had never heard before. Listening with her conscious mind she could make no sense if it; but if she let her mind wander, and listened not to the words but to the shape of the sounds...

“The Sword…” she whispered. “So he can still be saved?” The sword gleamed in answer.

“Highness! Your Highness, are you all right?” Shai and Jitan were bounding through the rain-soaked grass.

“Take Link to the Shrine of Resurrection. If you don’t get him there immediately, we’re going to lose him forever. Is that clear?”

The Sheikah warriors nodded agreement.

“Make haste!” commanded Zelda. “His life is in your hands.” The two made a simple stretcher by tying two wooden staves together with their waist-sashes. They laid the motionless Link onto it and hoisted it smoothly between them. Zelda took the Master Sword from Link’s hand and tucked the Sheikah Slate in its place.

“The Slate will open the shrine,” she said. “Lay him on the bed you will find inside, and place the Slate on its pedestal. If my research is correct at all, the Shrine will do the rest. Go in the light of the Goddess— more lives than just his depend upon you.”

“We will not fail you,” said Shai, bowing.

She watched them go until they vanished into the distance. Even then, they were not gone: she could feel their movement like a wind across the open places inside her, like a light shining from around a corner. It was not just them, either: Zelda could sense other souls, perhaps _every_ other soul. If she reached out with her mind, she was sure that she could find them all, know them each by name. The space inside her had expanded to hold all of Hyrule; she could feel it all with a new sense not of the human body. 

Zelda gazed down at the sword in her hand. It had a soul just like the thousands of souls still retreating into the hills. She could feel, furthermore, that it was bound up somehow with Link’s— that his handling of the sword had changed it in some small but permanent way, left an imprint of himself upon it. She ran her fingers along the edge of the blade, thinking. Though its voice still spoke to her in dim whispers, the artifact itself was in a bad way. The edges were nicked and corroded by contact with Ganon’s Malice. It would be of little use to Link when he emerged from the Shrine of Resurrection. It was not enough that the Hero should be healed; so too must his Sword.

“You used to live in a display room at the castle,” said Zelda, remembering. “You lay upon a velvet pillow of royal purple. People came from far and wide to look at you. But you… you didn’t belong there, did you? Where _do_ you belong? Where can you be made whole again?”

She clutched the hilt to her breast, closing her eyes. She listened to the voice in the sword, listened for some answering voice from— where, she did not know. But when she opened her eyes again, she stood in a sunlit glade. There was no rain. There were no clouds. There was no Malice. All around her were towering trees, some of whom had souls just as any Hylian did. Before her was a tiny, crumbling stone dais in the shape of the Triforce, surrounded by Silent Princesses that glowed even though it was high day. 

“A Zelda bearing the Master Sword? That is a sight I have not seen in many and many a season,” intoned a deep voice. Zelda looked up— and up, and up— into the living face of a colossal tree. She dropped the Master Sword in surprise. It clattered to the ground and she dropped beside it, bowing her head, awed by the tree’s unfathomable age and the wisdom in its ancient eyes.

The tree’s laughter blew through her like a warm wind.

“I’ll wager you didn’t expect to see this old stump again, did you— Hylia?”

Zelda tilted her head. “You are the Deku Tree,” she said. “Offspring of the Goddess Farore. You are… you are little more than a legend to us now. I did not imagine you were a literal tree in a literal forest.”

“Lucky for us, then, that the world holds more than your imagining,” said the Deku Tree. “Last time I saw you, I was a sapling and you were a Zelda of forty-five, with a consort and a little Zelda of her own. How fortunate I am to have seen you once more— Princess and Goddess both. Two old friends once more under my shade.”

“I’m very confused,” Zelda admitted.

“Yes, I can see,” chuckled the Deku. “Humans lead such short lives— but they manage to do so much with them. I have faith in you, Zelda. Your roots are buried deep, for a seedling. You will not be easily torn up.”

“The Sword brought me here,” said Zelda. “It is badly wounded. Or… whatever you call it when a sentient blade gets sick.”

“Your father’s ancestors took it from the safety of my canopy, to put on display in their stone forests. The Sword is alive and cannot thrive in isolation, with no friendly hand to wield it. It has always been thus, since it was first made so long ago.”

“Ten thousand years. I’ve heard the story.”

“Oh, it was much longer ago than that. You made it yourself, before Hyrule was one nation.”

“I will have to take your word for it,” said Zelda politely. “I’m afraid I don’t remember.”

“You crafted the Goddess Sword for your chosen Hero and imbued it with life. He reforged it into the Master Sword and bathed it in the three Sacred Flames. It is, in a way, your child— yours and Link’s. In the way that humans reckon such things.”

“That’s not _exactly_ how humans reckon children,” said Zelda, coloring. This was getting off track. “You are talking to me as if I am Hylia.”

“You _are_ Hylia,” said the Deku. “You are as much Hylia as you have ever been Zelda. A tree understands such things straight out of the acorn. A human must learn them.”

“I suppose,” said Zelda. “It doesn’t change anything. Not really. I know what I must do. I knew before I came here. I’ve known for a long time, even if I did not understand until now.”

Zelda lay the sword upon the stone, dropping to her knees.

“Your master will come for you,” she said, addressing the sword directly. She hoped it could understand her, at least a little. “Until then, you will rest safely here. Although the Slumber of Restoration will most certainly deprive him of his memories, please trust me when I say that I know Link will return for you.” 

“If I may be so bold… what _are_ you planning to do next, Princess?” The Deku was peering at her quizzically. She stood up again, determination straightening her spine.

“The Master Sword… It spoke to me. My role is far from finished. There is so much that I must do. Ganon is weakened, but still at large. I must contain the Calamity until Link is ready to strike the final blow.”

“I sense great strength in your dedication.”

“Great Deku Tree, may I ask a favor of you?” The Deku waited patiently, pressing its mighty lips together. “When Link returns for the Sword, can you please relay a message for me? Tell him I—”

“Now, then.” interrupted the Deku. “Words intended for him will sound much better in the tones of your voice, don’t you think?”

“Yes. Yes, I suppose so.”

She rose to her feet, holding the Sword as tenderly as if it really _were_ her and Link’s child. She lowered it into a cleft in the triangular dais. The earth accepted the blade; a wind blew through Zelda’s hair, accompanied by a whispering of many voices.

“My ancestors have wronged so many people, and every one of our sins has come back upon us a thousandfold. The Sheikah— the Yiga— even the Sword that Seals the Darkness, whom we treated as a trophy without a life and a voice of its own. Will you be so kind as to keep it company until its Hero returns to claim it? He will come as soon as he can— of that I am certain.”

“It would be my honor.”

“Thank you.” Zelda bowed deeply to the Great Deku Tree. She turned to go, stopped in her tracks, turned back to look at the sacred blade one more time, bathed in golden light, surrounded by Silent Princesses, each glowing as bright as a soul. And she knew, with sudden clarity, how to contain Ganon.

She uttered a wordless prayer to the power residing within her. When she opened her eyes again, all was blackness.

* * *

The first thing that Zelda knew was that Ganon had always been there, waiting in the shadows beneath Hyrule Castle. It had lurked in every corner, haunted every darkened room. It had watched her growing up.

“You’ve grown bold, Ganon,” she said quietly, in speech that was not speech. 

_Not bold,_ replied a voice like the snarling of a rabid dog. _Patient. I’ve been here longer than you have._

“No one has been here longer than I have.”

 _Perhaps you are right, Hylia. You were here first. I will be here last._ She felt it pressing against the emptiness of its prison, looking for iron bars to slither between, a wall to break through. Zelda could still feel the place where they had left the world, a tender spot on their shared consciousness like fresh scar tissue. She buried this, the prison’s only weakness, beneath a memory that not even Ganon could taint. It made no progress; it found no point of reentry into the world. It hissed and gibbered in frustration.

 _Very clever,_ it sneered at last. _You’ve trapped me in a void. The only jail big enough and strong enough to contain me— for a little while, at any rate. However did you think of it?_ Ganon’s tone was almost admiring.

“You gave me the idea, actually. From when you tried to turn me, before. You almost succeeded.”

 _You were brought truly low,_ the voice reminisced lasciviously. _It was delicious; I lapped at your despair like a cat laps cream._

The recollection of what had very nearly overwhelmed her on the banks of the Hylia River flared unbidden before her mind’s eye. Zelda pushed it away. “Enough,” she said impatiently. “We’re past all that.”

 _You can’t blame me for trying_. _And what now? I suppose you think that if I have no physical form I can’t get out and make trouble. But of course, you had to trap yourself in the void with me. And a void that contains a body is no longer a void, is it? To hold me here, you must reject your own corporeality. Wherever did you leave your own sweet skin? It must be somewhere._

“It must.” 

_What will you do if your body has an itch?_ _What will you do if your body is injured— if it is bitten, if it is torn, if it is defiled? Do you suppose you will feel it here?_

“I don’t know yet.”

 _You have not thought this through_ , it said derisively. _I have the advantage on you. I haven’t had a body in ten thousand years. I don’t mind waiting a little longer._

“Thank you.”

 _You really think this time you and your lapdog will succeed, where you never have before? He will charge to your rescue, Master Sword blazing, and bring about my final downfall?_ Ganon laughed scornfully. _Will you never learn, Hylia? Nothing can keep me sealed forever!_

“Who said anything about forever? The pendulum will swing, and you will rise again. And I will rise to meet you. Every time.”

_Such unearned confidence. You should be more respectful, Goddess. You don’t need a body for me to break you._


	14. A Hundred Years of Waiting

Because the void was of Zelda’s own making and was, in a sense, located inside her own consciousness, Ganon knew that the only way to destroy its prison was to destroy her mind. This was the goal to which it bent its whole will. It pressed against her continually, eager to exploit any weakness. It really had watched her growing up. It knew much more about her than she knew about it. It knew how to hurt her.

It called up her memories of the terrible destruction she had passed on her mad ride back to the castle. Worse, it showed her its _own_ memories. She saw the Calamity through its eyes. She experienced its promiscuous pleasure in the deaths of soldiers, of civilians, of children. It showed her Père, it showed her Aygo, it showed her Ebanon and Freida her handmaidens, all killed in the first unexpected attack. Her Champions, overwhelmed inside their Divine Beasts. Soldiers, civilians, cooks, farmers, merchants, miners. Children and babies too young to understand what was happening to them. It showed her _details_. 

Without a body, she could not weep. But she could still suffer.

It did not show her Link, which confused Zelda. Why not use its most potent weapon? But then she realized: it could only see through the monocular eyes of the Guardians whom it had tainted with pieces of its own soul. Those who had faced off against Link had died with the image of his indestructible courage and determination burned into their sights. Zelda could well understand why Ganon would not want to remind her of _that_.

Not that it could not use Link against her in other ways.

 _How do you think your sworn knight is faring in the Shrine of Resurrection?_ it asked. _The memory is always the first to go. He will not know that you and I are waiting for him. He will not know who you are at all. And even if some message can be got to him, he will have lost all his training. He will come back to you with nothing!_

“He will come back with himself,” said Zelda quietly. “Even _you_ cannot take that from him.”

 _Your faith in the Hero of Time is very touching,_ sneered Ganon, _and no doubt wholly justified. Oh, yes— I saw what he did for you. I watched it all. He should have died a hundred times over. And would have, to protect you. Who protects your body now? Is it the Sheikah? Do you suppose them exclusively loyal to you? Do you suppose them incorruptible?_

“The Sheikah! I should have thought of that.”

_Your knight’s recovery will not be quick. I took so much life from him._

“I am trying to set reasonable expectations.”

_What will you do when it takes longer than a year— or ten— or a hundred? I’m sure you have left your body in loyal hands, but will their children be so loyal? Their grandchildren? Even if they are, will you die of old age while you await your savior?_

“I certainly hope not.”

 _You must be relying upon your Goddess blood to prevent the ravages of age. You hope that he will emerge from his restorative sleep to find you as dew-fresh and lovely as the day he left you. It won’t matter what face you wear, Hylia. He still won’t know who you are— excuse me— who you_ _were_ _to each other._

“I already knew it would hurt. It is too late to change now.”

_‘Too late’? I have never believed in such a thing, which is why I am still here and he is not._

In a way, this was the easiest Ganon to endure— the Ganon who provoked her consciously. She knew its barbs could not hurt her. All it could do, in here where there was neither time nor space, was remind her of what it had already done. Her own mind could inflict worse than that, and did.

But Ganon had many forms, only one of which spoke with a man’s voice. Others howled like craven beasts, or like infants, or like parents who have lost a child. Ganon could frighten her; it could tempt; it could demoralize; it could annoy. Even without a body, there were so many ways to feel pain.

* * *

The first month was the hardest, a lightless, sleepless eternity with no respite. Then something happened that changed everything.

A baby was born in Hyrule.

Zelda— or Hylia— felt her enter the world in Gerudo Town. Her mother loved her passionately; Zelda felt that, too. Hylia— or Zelda— clung fiercely to that newborn soul, treasuring it from afar. It was like sunlight to her. It was like air.

After that, she understood: the only way to avoid despair was to give herself to Hyrule. She reached out with her mind, feeling for the sentient blue flame that meant a living soul. Her subjects appeared to her as if in a dream: muddy and indistinct when she tried to comprehend them with any of the five human senses, but unmistakable as soon as she handed the reins over to her subconscious mind. They tilled the land, fished and hunted, recovered their injured lives. Sometimes, they celebrated weddings and births and anniversaries. Sometimes, they mourned and fought and cheated each other rotten. Mostly, they just lived.

She learned to tell the passing of time through them. The dolphin hunt in Laurelin, rice planting in Necluda, egg hatching in Zora’s Domain— this made a season. A year was the time it took for the Rito counsel to make a decision. A Goron reached adulthood in a decade.

Purah surfaced in Hateno, Robbie in the far reaches of Akkala. Shai and Jitan moved around, often together though they sometimes separated. Mikah went where the wind went, singing for his keep. Zelda tried to speak to them, to give them some sign that she had survived and was not giving up the fight. But her words just came rushing back at her, unable to penetrate the boundary between nothing and something.

Zelda searched for Urbosa, Mipha, Daruk and Revali. She could not help looking, though she knew they were dead. But the debased hides of their Divine Beasts prevented even her deepest submerged mind from accessing her friends.

She could not see Link, buried away in the Shrine of Resurrection; but she could feel that he was there. His life was so faint, no stronger than the heartbeat of a chick inside an egg. He grew stronger so gradually that it was hard to believe he was improving at all.

* * *

 _I have found your body_.

“You have? Where?”

_In the Lost Woods. You think I cannot make my way through the labyrinth, that I will lose my way like your precious, stupid humans._

“That’s a good guess. Whatever made you think of it?”

_You cannot fool me. I feel that you are there._

“Then what are you waiting for? Go rend my flesh as you are always threatening to do.”

_You know I cannot leave this prison. But my forces can. They will tear you in pieces. They will devour you, down to the bones._

“You should not make threats you cannot keep.”

* * *

The first blood moon struck Hyrule like an ice arrow to the heart. Children born too late to experience the Calamity first-hand looked up at the sky and wept from the fear of the unknown. Those who had survived the rise of the Beast cowered with the fear of the known. Even Zelda, who had expected something like this sooner or later, was disturbed by it. The blood magic was an expression of Ganon’s own personal store of power, with which it purchased a temporary conduit between the inside and the outside, like a window in a prison wall. Ganon could look out over Hyrule through the vast eye of the blood moon; it could speak through it, too, in the languages of its foot-soldiers, and bid even the dead ones return to their posts. Buried monsters came to chilling life once more, to torment the people Zelda was so determined to keep safe. They sprang from the ground like bamboo shoots. 

Zelda shrank from the foul magic polluting Hyrule’s night sky. It sickened her, and she was afraid that it might betoken a weakening in the liminal prison she had concocted. But the prison held, and in a few hours the hideous thing had faded. Ganon was weakened by the expenditure of magic the blood moon necessitated, and could not regain its full consciousness for some time after. 

But it did not need to: the damage had been done. It was true that the dead were merely reanimated, not truly alive. They could not go far from the places where they had died, but were stuck haunting their own graves like angry ghosts. But they did have bodies; they could still eat, and hunt, and fight, and kill. Their encampments became known as cursed sites. Ruined places that had been built up in the first years of the Reconstruction were abandoned once more, as their old scars began to bleed again. 

* * *

Jitan married a woman in Kara Kara. Shai married one in Gerudo town. Impa began taking over some of Paya’s duties. Mikah composed a long-form ballad, _The Trial of the Sword_ , and sang it to anyone who could spare a penny. He was easily the best musician in Hyrule, but there was no money for artists in a world which had seen Calamity.

The child that had been born in Gerudo reached adulthood. She went to work in a Goron mine, liking the challenge. Zora hatchlings born at the same time were still children. Link’s little sister Naia captained her own boat off the coast of Lurelin, and taught her son Link to fish. Robbie married a woman in Akkala. King Dorephan commissioned a series of stone tablets commemorating Zora historical events. The Dragons Naydra, Farosh and Dinraal, who had not been seen for generations, glided out of a hole in the sky and made their homes in Lanayru, Faron and Gerudo. Only children and the pure of heart could see their physical forms. They inspired not fear but awe.

Another blood moon rose. This time, Hyrule was prepared. They bolted their doors. The next day, they went out in coordinated groups, armed with bows and spears, to clear the places where their children played. 

Zelda was ready, too. If Ganon wanted to waste its powers on flashy celestial tricks, so be it. She had uses of her own for a magical bridge between the darkness and the light. She looked out through the moon’s monoptic eye, taking in all of Hyrule Castle at once. A phantom Beast swirled around Hyrule Castle, terrifying but— as Zelda comprehended at once— no more substantial than a reflection in a mirror. 

Zelda turned her gaze toward Kakariko. Impa was standing with her staff in her hand, looking up at the moon.

“Impa,” said Zelda, mimicking the way Ganon spoke through the blood moon. “Impa. Can you hear?”

The words stuck for a moment in the interstitial nothingness, then broke through. Impa looked up, squinting at the scarlet moon. “Zelda?”

“Hello, Impa.”

“You disappeared,” said Impa, almost accusingly. “We looked for you. You disappeared. We would have followed you, Your Highness.”

“You would not want to follow me here,” said Zelda. “I am containing him.”

“Inside the Castle?”

“That’s where we left, but that’s not where we are,” said Zelda. “It’s… a little hard to explain. I don’t have time to get into it; I don’t think I will be able to hold this connection once the blood moon sets. I need your help.”

“Anything, Your Highness. Only ask.”

“Link is safe in the Resurrection Shrine. He’s healing, but slowly. It will be a long time, and he will almost certainly lose all recollection of everyone he knew and everything we did.”

“That’s hard. I’m sorry.”

“There may be a way to bring some of it back. I sent the Sheikah Slate with him, into the Shrine. It still has the last pictures I took stored in its system. They’re mostly random; I just liked taking pictures of everywhere we went. But they might help jog his memory. It’s worth a try.”

“Yes, Your Highness. When he comes out, send him to me.”

“There’s one more thing." Zelda hesitated. "I don’t have a picture of it, but… he needs to know what happened. On Blatchery Plain.”

“You mean the Miracle? What you did?”

“No. What _he_ did. His courage, and his… A thing like that shouldn’t be lost.”

“I’ll find a way to make him see,” promised Impa. “He’ll come back to you. One way or another.”

“I have to go. The window is closing. Thank you, Impa. Tha—”

The blood moon had sunk too low in the west. The connection was severed. Zelda was alone with Ganon once more.

* * *

_Your knight has been shut up in that Resurrection Shrine for a long time. Are you sure he’s still alive in there?_

Zelda did not answer. Illness had taken three hatchlings and an unhatched egg from a Rito family in a single week. She had not the heart to bandy words with the Calamity.

_The Shrine has not been used in thousands of years. How sure are you of its integrity? Do you think he died of his wounds? Or do you suppose he suffocated slowly?_

“He’s not dead. I would know.”

 _It gives me inexpressible pleasure to imagine him gasping for air, helpless as a newborn dropped in a well._ She had a vision of a boy clawing at his throat, his eyes rolling back in his head. The boy was almost Link. Almost.

“The eyes are too green,” she said viciously. “And the hair is wrong.”

 _That’s right_ , hummed Ganon. _His eyes should be blue. And his hair— what was it he used to do?_

“He used to cut it himself, with the Master Sword.” Zelda was gripped by the memory of the first time she had seen him do it, bunching his hair in his fist and slicing it off with one stroke of the Sword that Seals the Darkness. The result was exactly as one might expect from such an unrefined method. The hair on the nape of his neck always ended up too short to stick in a ponytail, and he had a cowlick that wouldn’t cooperate for love or money. After they’d become friends, Zelda had offered to trim it for him, but he’d always politely declined. He hadn’t even enough vanity to get a real haircut.

_Do you think he ever suspected how you felt about him? You were so careful not to show too much. The stakes were too high, weren’t they, for personal happiness?_

“He knew. If he knew anything, he knew that!”

_You had so little time with him, in the end. You spent most of it hating him. Would you have done it differently, if you’d known how close I was? Would you have loved him longer? Would you have kissed him more?_

Zelda tried to ignore the taunting. She looked toward Lurelin, where an old man was teaching his sister’s grandson to float on his back. She looked toward Hebra, where Snowfield was being joined to the interstable system that linked every region in Hyrule.

_You can’t shut me out so easily. You’re my prisoner, as I am yours. You locked yourself in here with me— a mouse that crawled into a snake’s hole! I may have no body, but I feel you, as palpably as if you squirmed between my two hands. I feel you, Hylia, so concerned with the crawling ants you call your children. Oh yes, and I feel Zelda, too, longing for your sworn knight— you miss him so much you can taste it! I can taste it, too, Your Highness— like honey on my tongue, like honey!_

Zelda looked toward Dueling Peaks, where a Yiga clansman savagely beat a traveller by the side of the road. She looked toward Death Mountain: a pair of brothers who lived side-by-side would not speak to each other because of a quarrel over another Goron.

_What would he think if he could see you now? Your silent knight— he saw more than he said, didn’t he? He must have known. He must have seen. He welcomed your advances— and why should he not? You used to wear the sweetest skin in all of Hyrule. He saw you in your flesh— he satisfied his cravings with you— but he would not so much as whisper what you were longing to hear. Someday he will be reborn, strong of shoulder and lean of hip. You must be hoping your body will have weathered the years so well, but even if it does— even if you go to greet him in a skin sewn from rose petals and silk— you will never know if he loved you, or merely lusted. You have watched enough of your ants out there to know what sixteen-year-old boys are like._

Zelda did not answer. Ganon pressed around her, savoring her misery.

 _You poor thing,_ it clucked sympathetically. _You are just a little girl, after all._

“You should have stuck with ‘he’s probably dead’,” she said icily. “You think to persuade me that Link was false? Your faculties have degraded in confinement.”

 _Prove it. Prove that he loves you. Prove that you love him. Open up the Shrine of Resurrection and ask him— if you are not too cowardly_.

“Prove it? I have nothing to prove. But _you_ have just proven that you are running low on torments. Link, not love me? Link, falter in his devotion? Slither back into your hole, snake. I do not want to play with you today.”

* * *

Paya died; Impa took her place as Kakariko’s village elder. The Gerudo woman who mined in Goron was killed in a cave-in. Mipha’s baby brother Sidon finally reached adulthood, after a long and awkward adolescence. Naia’s son Link took over her boat for her, earning enough with his catches for her to retire. Jitan’s three daughters struck out across Hyrule, seeking adventures of their own. The two brothers in Goron City decided they would rather share a partner than each end up with nothing, a compromise that satisfied all three. Mikah’s reputation grew by leaps and bounds; people went around whistling snatches of music from his latest opus, _The Ocarina of Time_.

The blood moon rose. Zelda talked to Purah in her lab, giving her as much information as she could think of regarding Ganon, the Divine Beasts, and the infected Guardians. Purah took notes the whole time, then tried to summarize her own research before the connection was lost.

Robbie took a second wife, who was intensely jealous of his first. Naia died in her bed, surrounded by her son and grandchildren. The Gerudo Canyon Stable was added to the countrywide stable system; heads of towns from Gerudo to Akkala debated whether the stables were a boon or a drain on local economies. Economic drain or not, people had come to expect them. The stable system remained.

A blood moon over Tabantha. Zelda was getting better at exploiting the window. She found Mikah sitting alone on a singing-stone with his bodhrán and tipper, though for the moment the instruments were still.

“Mikah,” she said softly. 

“Zelda,” he answered. He did not seem surprised to hear her voice. She wondered if he had been waiting for her. “Zell, is that really you?”

“It’s me. It’s me, Mikah.”

“Impa told me you spoke to her. Purah, too. I didn’t want to hope—”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t reach you sooner. The window closes so quickly, and I have so much to do.”

“Is it true you’re trapped inside that thing?”

“Not exactly. It’s more like it’s trapped inside me. I won’t let it escape. But it’s not easy.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, standing up, turning his face full to the crimson glow. He was beautiful to her despite the lines on his face, the scars. But his losses had fossilized inside him; his eyes had no light left. “I’m sorry,” he said again. “I failed you. I should have—”

“You were there with me when I needed you," she said gently. "Even at the end, you were with me.”

“I could have done so much more. I wasted my time on music. When did a song ever turn back chaos?”

“What is music but the ordering of chaos? You have not wasted your time. In fact I wanted to ask, Mikah— how is your unified history of Hyrule coming? Have you gotten past the title, yet?”

“I gave that up,” he said. “It’s too big. There’s too much darkness.”

“There is light, also. I wish you could see how much.”

“How can you say so, trapped with that thing?”

“I need it more, here. I look harder.”

He closed his eyes against the night. “I miss you,” he whispered. “I miss you so much I can’t breathe, sometimes. I know you’re the only thing keeping the Calamity from ripping open the sky, but Zell, sometimes… sometimes I don’t care. Rip it open if you have to. Only come back.”

His misery buffeted her. Her oldest friend, her first love. It was not right that his grief should have lasted so long. It was not fair.

“I am not gone,” she said, heart breaking. It wasn’t enough, but it was all she had to give. “I have only gotten bigger— I can hold so much now. I can hold the whole world. Mikah, will you promise me something?”

“Anything.” 

“Promise me you’ll finish it. _The Legend of Hyrule_. I’m still waiting to find out how it ends.”

Tears streamed freely down his narrow cheeks. He nodded, wordless. He could not speak, and she could not stay.

* * *

The Yiga grew more aggressive, waiting for their messiah’s return. Shai lost the use of her legs defending her wife’s caravan from a Yiga attack between Kara Kara and the Northern Icehouse. She retired to town, acting as an advisor to the Gerudo chief Barria. Link retired from fishing, and passed the family boat on to his daughter Maia. Mikah took his first and only student ever, a Rito prodigy named Kass. He imparted many decades’ worth of accumulated knowledge to his eager pupil, determined to leave some positive mark on the world before he left it for good. 

Zora parents told their children horror stories about the lynel on Mount Ploymus; this only made the children want to see him more. Thanks to a robust stable system, trade between the seven outer regions of Hyrule flourished. A travelling merchant named Beedle made use of the same technology that allowed horses to pass instantaneously between connected stables, and made his wares available to the furthest outreaches of the country. 

A blood moon shone on Mount Hylia. This might be her last chance; she could not put it off any longer.

_Zelda._

“Hello, Père.”

 _You found me_.

“I was not sure if I would. I thought perhaps you would be gone.”

_I could not leave. I tried._

“How came you to be here?”

_I don’t know. Someone must have carried me. I woke up here, on Mount Hylia. I did not even know I was dead until later._

There was a pause. They had only until the sinking of the blood moon— and who knew when the next one would rise? But they could not quite figure out how to proceed. 

_I’m sorry, child,_ said the dead king in a nervous rush. _I was afraid. I saw only what I expected to see; I did not think of what you were going through. I should have been more understanding. Instead, I made everything harder._

“I was a terror, too. I was so angry at you. I’m not angry anymore.”

 _It is easier to let go of anger,_ agreed her father, _when one is dead. I wish that I had been kinder to you when we were still alive— when it might have done some good_.

“I’m not dead, Père.”

The ghost of King Rhoam Bosphoramus goggled at the incorporeal spirit of his daughter, the Princess Zelda.

_But…_

“I can see why you would make that mistake. But it’s true. I survived. Link and I went to the castle, but it had already been destroyed. So we turned around and went all the way back to Necluda. To Blatchery Plain. Link fell defending me. But he did not die. And now I’m waiting for him to return to me.”

_What do you mean, my child? Return to you— where?_

“With Ganon.”

The blood moon had passed its peak. Far away, the phantom Beast screamed at the sky, powerless to do anything but frighten. Pere’s silvery blue face turned gray.

_But the Calamity— that cursed creature—_

“I have held it for many years. I will not have to hold it much longer; I can feel that Link is almost ready. I have strength enough for the time that remains, I think. But I need your help. Hyrule needs your help.”

_I don’t understand. Where is Link now? Why is he not with you? How could he leave you to that monster?_

“He is inside the Shrine of Resurrection, near the Temple. He will wake in a few years. Or… days, perhaps. I don’t understand time anymore. When he wakes, he will not remember what has happened. You must help him. He is the Hero of Hyrule, beloved of the Goddess. I cannot finish this without him.”

_My child— my poor girl— you awakened your power at the last. Should I call you Hylia, now?_

“Of course not. Although I am her. Or at least, she’s me. I will give you a body. It won’t be a living one— I don’t have that power. Not even Hylia has that power. It will be more like a puppet, with you pulling the strings.”

“Are you sure about this, my child? It sounds like dark magic.”

“It was Ganon who gave me the idea. It uses the power of the blood moon to reanimate its troops, and this will be much the same. It will not be comfortable, I’m afraid. And your powers will be limited. But you will have substance, and movement, and speech, enough to help Link. Be patient with him. He will have to relearn everything he ever knew. After he has acclimated, you must send him to Impa, in Kakariko. She’ll tell him what to do. I must go— the blood moon sets soon.”

_Child— Zelda— wait._

“Yes, Pere?”

 _Was this— the rise of Calamity Ganon, the destruction of Hyrule..._ He hung his head, the blue flame of him going dim with shame. _Was it all my fault?_ He looked so lost, as a ghost. He looked so sorry.

“Not all. Some, but not all,” Zelda said gently, taking pity on the man who had once been at the center of her world. “It was my fault, a little bit. Grandmere’s, Grandpere’s. Everyone could have done better. Next time, everyone will.”

_What do you mean, next time? We have not yet lost, and already you speak of next time._

“It will never end,” said Zelda. “I can’t remember it, but I feel the cycle of chaos and harmony encoded in the part of me that is Hylia. The cycle cannot be ended without ending Hyrule. We will never truly win; we will never truly lose. Take heart, Père. Your kingdom survived. Your daughter survived. Her sworn knight survived. You were right about many things.”

_Being right means rather less, to a dead man._

“I must go, Père. I’m… I’m sorry I was such a willful child. I only did it to annoy you.”

_Praise Hylia for your willfulness. You are the savior our people deserve. I will send your sworn knight back to you. You can count on me. I will do better— this time._

* * *

Purah accidentally turned herself into a child. Barria, chief of the Gerudo, was killed in a fight against the Yiga. Her daughter Riju took the throne at just eleven years old. Mikah finished _The Legend of Hyrule,_ and performed it at the singing-stone of Rito Village. The Rito were moved to such heights of feeling that they gifted the bard with a pair of artificial wings which Mikah used to soar across the desert that bounded Hyrule to the west. He blinked out of Zelda’s consciousness like a blown candle.

The blood moon rose over the Great Plateau. Zelda turned her whole self toward the Shrine where a healthy seventeen-year-old boy slept peacefully.

She could not see him. But she could feel him in there, healed and whole.

“Link.” She addressed not the body in the Shrine but the blue flame of his life which burned in her consciousness like a small sun. 

“Link, open your eyes.” The blue flame flared, surging toward the white light of Hylia’s— of _Zelda’s_ — yearning. “Open your eyes. _Open your eyes_. Wake up, Link.” 

He woke up. She couldn’t see him; the Resurrection Shrine wouldn’t let her. But she knew he must be looking around, exploring his tiny chamber. He was in no hurry. The blood moon passed its peak, began its descent. The window to the world was weakening; Zelda steadied it as best she could, holding it open by sheer force of will. Still Link tarried. 

Finally, she felt a burst of curiosity from him and guessed at its meaning. “That is a Sheikah Slate,” she said. The moon sank below the horizon; the sun was coming up. The connection was disintegrating; Ganon’s blood-magic had never been intended to last into the light of day. “Take it. It will help guide you after your long sleep. Hold the Sheikah Slate up to the pedestal. It will show you the way.”

The doorway to the Shrine of Resurrection rumbled open. Link blinked at the rising sun, his cheeks still pink from slumber. 

“Link… “ The connection was strained almost to breaking. She felt the void sucking her inward, felt the sunlight trying to dissolve the bridge that blood magic had wrought. “You are the light— our light— that must shine upon Hyrule once again.” 

“Now go!” Zelda cried, and snapped back into the void with a rebound that knocked her senseless for the first time in a hundred years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please excuse formatting issues; ao3 loses its whole mind whenever you use italics, and as you may have noticed this chapter goes kinda heavy on them! I'll fix manually when I have a minute.
> 
> Thank you for reading, reviewing and kudos!!


	15. The Hero of Hyrule

_How did you find our Hero? I’ve missed him terribly. I wonder who is more eager to be reunited with him— you or me?_

Zelda became aware, slowly. Ganon had been waiting for her to regain her senses like a cat waiting at a mouse-hole. She did not answer his question; he did not expect her to.

Ganon saw Link’s emergence from the sickbed not as a threat, but as an opportunity. It hummed with sickening anticipation, filling Zelda’s mind with visions of what it wanted to do to her knight. She took refuge in following Link’s progress as he re-learned being alive.

He was in many ways the boy she remembered. She had expected that the loss of his training would affect him, though he immediately— predictably— began swinging tree branches and pitchforks around, parrying bokoblin strikes with pot lids and lobbing sharpened sticks at moblins. He was still possessed of his characteristic single-mindedness, and could pursue the same repetitive exercises for hours without giving up. He was still a frighteningly fast learner. He still had a forager’s instinct; he still never complained about injury or inconvenience; he was still determined to find out absolutely everything in the world.

But he was different, too, in ways that surprised her. He had gone into the Resurrection Shrine a Sworn Knight of the Royal Family of Hyrule, a warrior, a hero. He came out a teenager with a hundred years’ worth of napping under his belt and a restless itch in the soles of his feet. He was like a feral thing on the Great Plateau, pure unbridled animus playing chicken with the laws of cause-and-effect. Her father, lonely and adrift in his makeshift body, had made him a parasail during his lonely wait outside the Shrine. Link couldn’t look at a hill or a column or a mountain without climbing it, just to have the pleasure of jumping off and gliding to the ground, sometimes sailing for miles. He set fires just to catch a better view of the sunset on the updraft.

Later, when King Rhoam released him into greater Hyrule, he revealed a social side that Zelda had never suspected even _before_ the world went to hell. Daredevil charisma billowed off him in waves. He grinned at everyone, even faceless strangers, even— maybe especially— the ones that were _very obviously_ Yiga in disguise. He snuck up on horses in Blatchery Plain, laughing at their attempts to buck him off, taming them with the firm and sympathetic touch that had won him his long-forgotten Epona. This all entertained him so much he decided to ride every four-footed thing that would bear his weight. His spree didn’t end until a partial-mauling by a grizzlemaw bear in Hebra, and even then Zelda was far from confident he had learned his lesson.

He invented hundreds of recipes, gamely polishing off even the most dubious. He fell out of trees. He fell off his shield, surfing. He fell off of horses, roofs, and three-hundred foot cliffs. He fashioned a kind of flying machine using Goron mining gear and the Sheikah Slate, which responded to him in a way it had never responded to Zelda. The first time he saw Farosh rise over Lake Hylia he stared at her, gape-mouthed, swaying a little to the music of her passing, until a lizalfos raked him across the face with its barbed tongue. He struck it down, startled, annoyed at the interruption.

He played hide-and-seek with tiny Koroks. He played with every dog he met, rolling on the ground with them till he was covered in dirt and dog slobber. He made friends with the merchant Beedle, who went red and flustered every time his favorite customer appeared and contrived to pop up wherever Link was going. Beedle was not the only one to respond to Link in this way, either. Young stablehands blushed when he laughed at their jokes. Several Gerudo expressed genuine disappointment that Link was too short to make a proper voe. Gorons named him an honorary brother, which in the Goron tradition was practically a proposal of marriage. Zelda wondered if he would have received that kind of attention before, if she had not always been with him, or if it was something else that had changed.

For there was one vital difference between the old Link and the new. The Hero of Hyrule had no recollection of Ganon, of the Princess, of his knightly oath, of his burden. He accepted his quest with the excitement of adventure, not with the solemnity of duty. King Rhoam had explained the situation to him with a light touch; Impa assured him that he could take his time, wait until he was sure of himself, although Zelda could feel her old friend’s anxiety and impatience simmering beneath the calm exterior. He did not hurry; he went out of his way frequently to help strangers with little quests of their own. It felt as if he would never make it back to her. Yet Zelda could not begrudge him his freedom. This was the young man Link would have been if he had never met her.

The blood moon appeared more and more often. Zelda longed to linger in Hyrule, talking to Link, but dared not; like her, Ganon had gotten better at using the full powers of the blood moon. Countering his mischief was almost as much as Zelda could do on these nights. She had just enough strength left over to send out a warning to her knight. Not that her warnings made much of a difference: she saw Link deliberately seek out certain monstrous enemies as soon as the blood moon had brought them back, just for the practice knocking them down again.

Purah restored the full functionality of the Sheikah Slate. Link had already unlocked features Zelda hadn’t even suspected the Slate possessed, using it as a key to open up the shrines that had always so frustrated her. He could use it to travel vast distances in the span of a moment, too, and to create bombs and magnetic currents and blocks of instant ice. Purah also showed him how to access the stored pictures to attempt to regain some of what he had forgotten. Link scrambled gamely around Hyrule in search of the places where the snapshots had been taken. But whether the experience actually returned his lost memories to him or merely served as an excuse to wander around jumping off of things, she had no idea.

The temptation to spend her days and nights lost in watching him was almost overpowering, a finer torture than anything Ganon could devise. It sensed the approaching end of its century-long prison sentence. It knew that Zelda was tired, that she longed for freedom as much as it did itself. Link liberated Vah Rudania from its blighted possessor, and Zelda felt Daruk’s spirit reenter her consciousness, jolly and kind and blustery. He released Mipha, then Revali— then, in a battle that raged all night, Urbosa. The Champions spoke to Zelda in distant echoes, shouting encouragement to her and abuse against Ganon. It raged against her for days every time another aspect of it died by Link’s hand. It battered and twisted her mind, scraping the warmth from her soul with claws of ice. It was more powerful than it had been a hundred years ago, but it was beginning to be worried.

She felt that it was still searching for her body, although it had long since given up trying to trick the information out of her. If Ganon took possession of her vacated body, it could do unfathomable damage. Zelda had no intention of allowing such a thing to happen, but Ganon’s search wore on her. It probed insistently, its scrutiny penetrating every private corner of her being. It could not read her mind or steal her memories, but after so many years together it could sense her fears and desires with terrifying accuracy.

 _When I find you_ , it said, _I will take you. I’ll take your voice and your hair and your soft, sweet skin. Even if you leave this prison, you will have no body to return to. You can watch me, if you like. I will find your precious Hero; I will talk to him like an old friend. I will kiss him as you are longing to kiss him; I will have him as you dream of having him. And then, when his heart is mine so completely that he has forgotten all about you, my Goddess, my oldest friend— I will devour him._

“He would never fall for that,” scoffed Zelda; but she was troubled by Ganon’s threats. The old Link would know Zelda, no matter what body she wore. Could the same be said of the new Link?

 _He will fall_ , laughed Ganon. _He will have no choice! Have I not told you? Have you not learned? I am more patient than the stones of the earth! I have outlasted my own death! Do you think I cannot make one red-blooded teenage boy fall in love with me, when I have your golden hair and your big, wet eyes to entice him?_ A vision of Link entered Zelda’s mind, of Link gazing at her with love, only to sink into horror and betrayal as she revealed herself to be the Calamity. It was an imperfect representation of Link, of course, as always happened when Ganon tried to conjure up a false image. But it was close enough to be distressing.

“It will not work,” she said shakily. “No matter how you frighten me, no matter how you threaten. You are here, and I am here, and he is out there.”

_Ah, but for how long? I have cherished our years together, my Hylia; I have not squandered a moment. I have been inside your deepest places. I know your soul like the scent of a lover, I have bathed in it. You are not the only one, sweet Goddess, pretty Queen, who can reach outside the bars of our prison. While you have been staring addle-pated at your crawling ants, I have been following your trail. I am close, so close. I will be inside you soon._

* * *

Link had the Master Sword. It was weakened from their long separation, still tired. It only felt itself again when it was raised against Ganon’s Malice. Zelda could not understand how she had ever thought it a stick of dumb metal. Its soul blazed as bravely as any living Hylian’s.

He was coming. She could feel him. She reached out with her mind, enfolding him in the velvety quiet of a winter night, trying to give him a chance to find Ganon before Ganon found him.

_I know where your body is._

Zelda pushed the thought away impatiently. Link was at the Castle. 

_You left your body on Satori Mountain. You think I cannot reach it there because it is sacred ground._

Zelda was silent a long, long while. “What makes you think that?” she asked carefully.

_I knew something important was there. It was the only place in all of Hyrule you never watched._

“Anything could be there.” Link was searching through the ruins, tracing a methodical path to the center.

_You’ve led me a thrilling chase. A thousand times I almost had you. But now I am sure._

“You’re mistaken.”

_You lie. Your trail leads me there, no matter how many times I sniff you out. Still, I was not sure until this moment. Your soul glows with fear, all the proof I need._

“You pride yourself on your sleuthing. But it is not my body you’ve found.”

Ganon paused, suspicious, sure she was trying to trick it.

 _You’re hiding something_ , it insisted. It paused again, probing. She could feel her knight, so incredibly close, standing in the Sanctum. The place where she and Ganon had left the world, the only weak spot in their vast unknowable nothingness. Inside the Sanctum, the border between nothing and something was vanishingly thin. She had hidden it from Ganon all this time, beneath a memory she never looked at.

 _You’re not hiding on Satori,_ it said with a dawning rage _. You’re using your memory of Satori to hide something else. The scar. The entryway. The Sanctum!_

“Got there at last, have we?”

Ganon let out a roar that temporarily froze her. It scrabbled invasively at her mind, squirming inside her consciousness like a parasite. She could not keep it imprisoned much longer.

The memory surfaced: the cherry tree in moonlight, the blue rabbits, Link asleep beside her with his cheek pillowed on one hand. Beneath it, the old scar of her traumatic departure from reality. Ganon bellowed victoriously. It sent out cruel tentacles of intention, clawing at the sole weak spot in its prison.

“Link,” called Zelda desperately, “Link, I can’t hold it—”

Roaring, it burst through the scar into the Sanctum of Hyrule Castle, slithering into a perverted mass of leftover Sheikah tech held together by blood magic, incubated these last hundred years. This was not the body it wanted, but it was a body it could use. 

Ganon was free, leaving Zelda alone in her emptiness.

* * *

_That puny Hylian’s a real solid brother._

_Knock me over with a feather, he even knows what to do with my Great Eagle Bow._

_I’ve always known he had a good heart. Ever since he was a little boy, and came to me to be healed._

_He’s almost worthy of my little bird._

“Urbosa?”

 _Hello, Zelda,_ drawled Urbosa. _Long time no body. Is this your void? I love what you’ve done with the place._

 _Is this where you’ve been stuck all this time?_ This was Revali, sounding repulsed. _It’s worse than a century with that diseased Windblight._

“My friends,” said Zelda sorrowfully. “You were all trapped with those terrible things. You must have suffered so.”

 _Don’t you dare feel sorry for us_ , warned Urbosa. _We knew what we were getting into. And it was worth it just to see the final show. I wouldn’t dream of giving up my front-row seat._

 _The little guy is giving old Ganon what-for_ , enthused Daruk _. He really knows his way around a sacred sword. And you gotta respect a brother who knows how to use a shield as a weapon!_

 _Zelda_ , said Mipha, _t_ _he four of us— your Champions— we died. But I sense that you are still alive, somehow. Yet you are here in the spirit plane. You talk to us as the Princess that we knew, yet I sense another sharing your soul._

 _You really did it_ , said Revali admiringly. _You awakened the Goddess Hylia. I never thought I’d see the day._

“Neither did I.” Zelda could feel the battle raging in the bowels of the Castle. The hole through which Ganon had burst into the Sanctum could act as a doorway for Zelda, too— but unlike Ganon, she had no body to return to. All she could do now was watch helplessly, and hope.

Link bent Ganon almost to breaking. The Calamity shrieked and thrashed, then vanished in a cloud of putrid smoke. Link was confused, but Zelda was not: she knew exactly where it had gone. She could feel it still.

Out in Hyrule Field, the Dark Beast pawed the ground. Zelda used some of her reserved power to encase the field in a shield that burned it like acid if it got too near. It raged, desperate to break free and ravage her country, annihilate her people. Zelda was so tired; she felt the last hundred years acutely. The shield around the Beast was draining her with every moment. But she had enough strength left to transport Link to the final battleground.

This last engagement was terrible. The Hero and the Beast battled for hours, both tiring, both growing desperate. But in the end, Link slew the Beast. Its body collapsed in the dirt. Its soul fled, searching for another vessel, a force of pure panic and rage.

_Where— where— you must have left it somewhere— Goddess! Princess! I will have your body! I can feel it all around me! Where have you left it? Give it to me! Give it to me and I will depart from Hyrule forever!_

“I would never let that happen,” said Zelda coldly. “I never had any intention of letting you have my body. Do you not understand? It is gone. _My body is gone._ I let it go.”

Ganon stilled, temporarily stunned. It could not understand why Zelda would sacrifice the one thing it had spent the last ten thousand years coveting. It could not believe that what she was saying was true.

 _I feel you,_ it growled, but for the first time it sounded uncertain. _I feel you all around me. I feel you! You have a physical form! I FEEL YOU._

 _Daughter_.

The word came to her out of the senseless darkness of her own discarnation. 

“Maman?” she whispered, and her voice was that of a six-year-old child.

Suddenly, the darkness was gone. Zelda stood in a field of white flowers. A woman stood before her, smiling in the sun. The woman had her mother’s eyes.

_I am so proud of you, my love. You’ve been so strong._

“Are you here to take me with you?” Zelda was not afraid to die. Not if dying could be like this.

Her mother smiled, and the smile was filled with grief.

_You cannot rest just yet. You have so much still to do._

“But I have no body,” said Zelda. “I gave it up. How can I live without a body?”

 _I was Hylia, too, my darling, for a brief time. So was my mother, and hers. We have all lived with the terrible burden, the unspeakable joy of holding two selves within us. None of us did what you did. But still, we could do_ _something_.

“What do you mean, Maman?”

_We knew you would need it again, some day. We saved it for you. Look around you, my daughter. Look and see where you have been._

Zelda looked around her. She stood in a sea of Silent Princesses.

 _While you were busy sacrificing yourself to save our people,_ said her mother _, we saved your body. We planted it in the soil, a burial and a birth. A single Silent Princess that took root, and bloomed, and seeded. You grew strong and abundant. You have lived in the flowers all this time. Your body is not gone. It is only changed. And now it is time to change back. Open your eyes, my beloved._

_Open your eyes._

Zelda obeyed. 

The Calamity roiled under a livid sky. The air was heavy with ash and decay. The ruined castle loomed like a tombstone in the distance. Zelda took a breath, and felt her lungs fill with air. She felt the firm ground beneath her feet, felt her hair graze against her back, felt her blood pulsing through her veins.

The Beast roared, charging.

Zelda reached inward, focusing the part of her that was Hylia into a droplet of white light. The droplet expanded, growing to fill the field, the ruined castle, all of Hyrule in an instant. Ganon thrashed and squealed, recoiling from the explosion. It receded in pain and terror from the light that was poisonous to it. With a sigh, Zelda felt Hylia flow out of her in a river of power, chasing Ganon back into its eternal prison. 

The light swallowed the darkness. Ganon was sealed once more.

For the first time in a century, Zelda was alone inside her mind. No Ganon. No Goddess. She no longer contained all of Hyrule. She could have wept with loneliness.

There was a familiar step behind her.

“I’ve been keeping watch over you,” she said quietly. She was not brave enough, yet, to look at him. “All this time. I’ve witnessed your struggles to return to us, your trials in battle. I always thought— I always _believed—_ that you would find a way to defeat Ganon. I never lost faith in you.” 

She turned. Her sworn knight was staring at her, wide-eyed and silent. “Thank you, Link. Hero of Hyrule.” The sunrise was in her eyes; she could not see his expression. Did he look at her as at a stranger? Did he know her at all?

“May I ask— “ she said, hesitating, afraid of the answer. “Do you really remember me?”

He did not answer for a moment. He could only stare.

Then his face lit up in a sudden smile that outshone the rising sun. He hurled himself across the space between them, flinging his arms around her, knocking both of them to the ground.

“You’re here, you’re here, I missed you, you’re here!” he was babbling. “There are so many things you have to see. I have to show you _everything!_ Did you know the Great Fairies are alive again? Did you know about Tarrey Town? Do you want to meet my horse?”

She threw her head back and laughed. She laughed and laughed.

“Zelda, you’re crying.”

She shook her head emphatically. “I’m not!”

“Neither am I, then.”

They kissed away each other’s tears under an endless, cloudless sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope to be posting the epilogue next week, and then we're done! Please feel free to leave recs for other great Zelda fics in the comments, and thanks for sticking with me through all this!


	16. Epilogue

She almost didn’t remember how to be Zelda anymore. She hadn’t had a body in so long, hadn’t felt hunger or thirst or sleepiness. Link had fought all night, and was tired and hungry. He took food from his saddlebags, handfuls of dried fruit and nuts to keep him going until they could get under shelter and have a proper rest. He offered some to Zelda, but she preferred to stand looking up at the sky, counting birds.

When he was done, Link took her hand and led her over to his horse, a tan stallion with a blond mane whom he’d named Honey. He got down on one knee and cupped his hands, to toss Zelda up onto the horse as he’d done a thousand times before. The press of his hands under her bare feet, the ground falling away beneath her, the settling into place— it was all so familiar it hurt. He got into the saddle behind her, his arms curving around to manage the reigns. 

“Where do you want to go?” he asked, his breath tickling her ear. 

“I don’t know,” said Zelda. “I can’t think, I still feel so.…” She closed her eyes and felt, briefly, the press of thousands of souls inside her. Then they were gone, and she held no one but herself.

“You don’t have to do anything,” said Link. “Just let me take care of you. Would that be all right?”

“Yes. Yes, that will be all right.” Comforted, at least for the moment, Zelda looked around at the verdant prairie. It was familiar, but strange, too, overgrown and abandoned. “It’s so empty,” she said hollowly. No settlements, no garrisons, no outlying farms. Just wilderness and sky. 

At least nothing remained of Ganon’s minions, the predatory fauna it’d resurrected afresh at each new blood moon. Malice was gone from the world, and Ganon’s armies with it.

They rode by a Guardian’s vacant carapace, lying where it had collapsed when Ganon was sealed away. Zelda stared down at it as they went past, but she could not decide what she felt about it. Link nudged Honey into a trot, the faster to put the desecrated thing behind them. “Zelda?”

“Mm?”

“Do you remember… everything, from before?”

“Yes. I remember everything.” She slumped a little, but his strong arms held her steady in the saddle. “But it’s all so far away. A lifetime ago. I’m so old now. I’m older than you.”

“You were already older than me,” he reminded her.

“Yes. That’s true.”

They stopped in late afternoon, under a stand of trees in Windvane Meadow. This region had once been the breadbasket of Hyrule, productive farmsteads from horizon to horizon. The burned fields of staple crops had given way to weeds and wildflowers, punctuated here and there by surprising clumps of beans or grain. Link took food from his saddlebag: crepes wrapped around chickaloo nut butter and preserved fruit. He handed one to her. Zelda sniffed it, still hesitant to break her hundred years’ fast. She took a tiny bite: the crepe was tender and soft, the jammy filling perfectly balanced between tart and sweet. Her empty stomach let out a ferocious growl, and she devoured the rest of the thing in two bites. Link laughed and gave her his portion too, cautioning her to slow down.

“It’s not going anywhere,” he said. “Don’t give yourself a stomach ache.”

“I can’t help myself,” she said sheepishly. “It’s so good.”

“It’s only leftovers,” he demurred, cheeks turning pink.

Link began, methodically, to make camp. Distantly Zelda remembered what to do, clearing a space to lay their bedrolls while Link built up a small fire. But she was struck by a wave of exhaustion, a century of wakefulness hitting her all at once. She was asleep before the sky turned pink.

* * *

Ganon whined and screeched through her dreams that night. She woke with burning lungs: in her sleep, she had forgotten to breathe. Link, already up and poking the fire awake, hurried over as soon as he heard her stirring. He knelt beside her. He didn’t say anything, but his silence— which, she remembered, had once grated on her— was now a comfort. By the time they were on the road, she felt a little more human. She left her battle-worn white shift behind, and wore instead a spare shirt and pants belonging to Link.

They cut across country, skirting copses of oak and beech, heading always south. Zelda zoned out easily, staring at the road passing beneath Honey’s feet or at the wavering blue of the sky. They passed by a few lonely travelers. Each new face sent a jolt of recognition through her, which faded as she tried to remember exactly who she was looking at. They paused frequently— this was for her benefit, Zelda knew, for Link could sometimes go twelve hours without more than a few breaks to water. But she was grateful for the solicitude, which allowed her to reacquaint herself with the laws of physics and of biology without any pressing need to meet a schedule.

They camped that night in the shadow of the Forest of Time. The Great Plateau loomed over them, the wreckage of the Eastern Abbey just visible at its edge. Zelda watched the rice cooking in a scavenged pot while Link strung a rudimentary shelter between two trees. She sprinkled in a few pinches of rock salt and a handful of field greens. Link came over with a couple of bird eggs he’d found up a tree, and cracked them into the pot to poach.

Zelda was nodding off into her dinner when Link took it gently from her hands and put it aside. He eased her down onto her bedroll, offering her a swish of minted water from his flask to clean her teeth, wiping the day’s grime from her face with a dampened cloth. He moved to clean up the remains of their dinner, but she caught his hand as he was turning away. She pulled him down on the bedroll beside her.

“Stay with me,” she pleaded. “Until I fall asleep?”

“All right.” He tucked her comfortably against him, blowing her hair off his face. The night was just cool enough to make the warmth of his body welcome. Even though she’d spent all day squeezed onto the saddle ahead of him, she still found herself wanting the contact. 

“Ganon talked about you a lot,” said Zelda suddenly. Behind her, Link went still. “He knew it was the easiest way to hurt me— to break me.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I should have—”

“It’s not your fault, Link. I never thought it was your fault.”

“But I promised,” he said. His arms tightened around her. “I promised I would never forget you. I promised I would never leave. I broke my vow. I left you all alone.” His voice broke.

She turned to face him in the fading light. His eyes, wide and sea-green, were fixed unhappily on hers. 

“You didn’t leave me,” she said. “You died for me.”

* * *

They crossed Hylia Bridge around midday, passing by an abandoned bokoblin fortress on the northern end. They camped on a rocky bend of the Floria River. Link caught them a pair of river trout and roasted them on spits. Zelda was achy from so many hours in the saddle; it had been their longest ride yet.

“I used to be able to go for even longer days than this,” she said ruefully, wincing as she sat gingerly on a flat rock on the shore. “I feel as if even my spine is bruised.”

“I pushed you too hard,” he fretted. “I should have stopped sooner—”

“You didn’t push at all,” said Zelda. “Anyway, I don’t mind the soreness. It means I’m alive enough to hurt.”

“Well, don’t be a hero,” said Link, smiling. “Here, drink this. A wrestler from Kakariko gave it to me, it’s an elixir for muscle soreness. And the going’ll be easier once you’ve got your own horse. Honey’s saddle isn’t really shaped for two riders. We should be at Lakeside Stable this time tomorrow, we can get you a proper mount then. If I were sure I could bring you with me, I’d just blink us there on the Slate right now. But it’s disorienting to travel by Slate, and besides, I’ve never been able to bring along an alive thing. So horses it is.”

“You were the Slate’s chosen one all along,” remarked Zelda. “I should have just given it to you before. I wasted a lot of time trying to get the wretched thing to work.”

Link unhooked the Sheikah tablet from his belt, and tapped it on and off absentmindedly. “It’s been useful,” he admitted. “But it’s just a tool. It wasn’t the missing piece you were searching for.”

“No, perhaps not,” shrugged Zelda. “I guess there was no missing piece.”

Link’s eyes darted to her face, looked away. He looked at his hands, toyed with the Slate. He seemed suddenly shy.

“I feel a little better now,” said Zelda, to spare him having to talk. She reached for him. “Come lie down. We’ll start early tomorrow.”

* * *

They stopped the next night at Lakeside Stable. Beedle the merchant went pink at the sight of Link, then red as he noticed Zelda. He blushed furiously through Link’s blithe, unself-conscious introduction. They purchased a double bunk, then sat around the cookfire to eat with the rest of the travelers. The workers knew Link— knew his cooking, too, and cleared a space for him at the pot. He introduced Zelda to them. He did not mention that she was the long-lost Princess of Hyrule; at her own request, he did not even reveal her name, but simply called her his friend Ella. Zelda was a little overwhelmed by so many people talking and eating and socializing at once, even though she knew this would have seemed a very sparse gathering in pre-Calamity days. People asked her friendly questions about who she was and where she was going. Lacking answers, she redirected their questions, and found a kind of oasis in hearing them talk about themselves. She met a quarry-worker from East Necluda traveling with samples of his ore to Kara Kara. She talked to a stablehand named Cima who recounted for her the time she’d met Link.

“Lakeside was always getting hit especially hard in thunderstorms. Scared the horses out of their skins— scared me, too, if I’m being honest. It was thundering something fierce first time Link showed up here— going on maybe seven or eight months ago now. He didn’t mind about that, just took off all his metal weapons, climbed up the ridgepole, and yanked out a metal axehead some lazy worker musta left up there. It was acting as a lightning rod, you see? It doesn’t storm like it used to then, but even when it does, we just go inside and wait it out. Problem fixed.”

“Yes, that’s Link for you,” said Zelda, glancing across the fire at him. He was learning a new kind of knot from Anly, the stable’s owner.

“How do you know Link?” asked Cima amiably, pouring a flagon of beer for herself and one for Zelda.

“Oh, my father hired him as a… delivery boy, some years ago.”

“Well, anyone with a lick of entrepreneurial spirit is guaranteed to make out in this economy. Anly keeps trying to hire him to stay on here, but he won’t do it. Just as well. I mean to be running this place inside of ten years, I don’t want the competition. Hyrule’s on the boom, my friend. Just you watch.”

Link had bought them two bunks, but she climbed into the lower one with him after only a few minutes. He scooted to the edge of the mattress to make room, and folded her into the bend of his body.

“How come you didn’t want to say who you are?” he asked quietly.

“It’s been so long since they had a princess,” she whispered back. “I need some time, still, to figure out who I am to them. Who they need me to be.”

* * *

Link woke Zelda early the next morning.

“There’s something you have to see,” he whispered, eyes gleaming. He packed their bags quickly and quietly while she made the acquaintance of the horse Link had selected for her, a cloud-gray stallion named Miscreant. Despite his name, Miscreant was a sweet-tempered steed, and seemed happy enough to be carrying a friend of Link’s. Miscreant and Honey touched noses and whinnied before turning their heads toward the rising sun.

Link stopped them halfway across the long boardwalk that spanned Lake Floria. A tiny korok squeaked with pleasure and leapt into the air, bouncing and hovering and hoping for Link’s attention. But his eyes were fixed on the waterfall on the northern shore. Zelda watched, too, waiting for she knew not what.

After several minutes, she smelled ozone, felt the hair on the back of her neck prickle. Link clutched her hand excitedly. A sinuous yellow-green form rose over Floria Falls. Farosh, the Dragon of Courage. Zelda watched, gape-mouthed, as the serpentine goddess flowed past her, almost close enough to touch, attended by lightning-sprites. A traveler rode past them, looking puzzled at their rubbernecking: Farosh was not visible to just anyone, it seemed.

When the Dragon had left them, Link turned to Zelda, his eyes alight.

“I never thought I’d see her in person,” she said, still blinded by the sight of the Dragon. “I prayed to her all the time— and here she is, with a real body and everything. She’s… she’s spectacular.”

“She’s my favorite,” said Link. “Look, the hair on my arms is all standing up. Come on, let’s go. Ebara Forest will be getting muggy soon.”

* * *

They spent a few days in Lurelin, bright with sounds of people, shouts and snatches of song and the cries of sea-birds. Everyone Link had known growing up here was long gone, but he introduced her to new friends he’d made over the past year. He showed her the cliffs where he and Naia had used to play hide and seek. He showed her an ancient stone monument with no discernible purpose or meaning. He spent a whole morning helping one of the fishers repair her boat, and Zelda found an uncomplicated joy in running around carrying hammers and nails and wooden planks for them.

“This was a wonderful idea,” she said on their third night there. “I can’t believe how peaceful it is here. Like another world.”

He flopped on his back, head pillowed on his interlaced fingers, and looked up at the palm-timbered roof above. Zelda combed her hair and braided it. They hadn’t bothered renting two beds this time. Might as well save the money, since they knew they’d be waking up together anyway. She could only really relax if she knew he was within reach. She slept better. Dreamed less.

“I thought you might like to see Lurelin,” Link explained. “It wasn’t touched by the Calamity. The Guardians never made it here. This place hasn’t changed in a long, long time.”

“And of course, you grew up here,” Zelda added. “This was your home. Before.”

Link shrugged. “No one remembers me, of course,” he said. “But Naia and my aunt, all the kids I used to play with— they all lived. I’ve asked Rozel. He’s the oldest person in Lurelin, and he remembers what things were like during the Reconstruction. He remembers my sister. He said the only person from Lurelin who died in the Calamity was old Naia’s idiot brother, who went off to swing a sword at shadows instead of staying sensibly on a fishing boat.” He stole a sly look at Zelda. “It’s okay, you can laugh. It’s funny.”

Zelda smiled, then stretched out alongside Link. His arms went eagerly around her. Outside, night insects chirped and sang. Waves washed rhythmically against the shore, like the world’s heart beating. A delicious breeze blew in through the wood-slat blinds, chasing away the day’s heat. Other travelers in the inn’s common bunkroom shifted and snored, and Zelda soon joined them in sleep.

Link insisted on an early start the next day, after a breakfast of palmfruit porridge and cured wild bacon. They bade Rozel and Chessica and the other early risers goodbye, and rode Honey and Miscreant back up into the Atun Valley, soon peeling off into the Dunsel highlands. Link checked the Slate frequently to make sure he still had his bearings, but by late afternoon they were riding on well-established roads, passing travelers streaming in both directions. 

They rode into the next town, dismounting just inside the village gate. Link held her up, one arm around her waist. Smells of roasting meat and hot flatbread mingled with the smell of sawdust from a lumbermill, manure from the high pastures. Villagers called out greetings and summons and hasty final business as the workday ended. A group of children raced past, almost knocking Zelda over in their excitement to get home for supper.

A hundred and one years late, they had finally reached Hateno.

Link took Zelda by the hand and led her at a walk through the town. Restaurants and shops and clothiers and row after row of ordinary houses full of ordinary people. Some of the houses were old, crumbling local stone patched again and again over generations. Others were newer construction, boxlike modular homes built quickly to accommodate a booming population. There was an inn, spacious and comfortable, but Link did not take Zelda to it, instead leading her up a side way to higher ground, past a cluster of brand new houses already ringing with life. They crossed a well-maintained wooden bridge that spanned a deep gorge, at the bottom of which pooled Firly Pond. On the other side of the bridge, at the end of their dwindling road, a neat elderly cottage nestled up against the waist of Ebon Mountain. 

They settled Honey and Miscreant into the little two-stall stable at one end of the house. Link tossed hay down for the horses to work on while he and Zelda brushed them down and hung up their tack. 

“This house was falling to rot,” he explained over Honey’s back. “The owner wanted to sell, but couldn’t find any takers for an old falling-down cottage, not when there’s sleek new buildings going up all the time. He gave me a good price for it, as long as I sourced all the timber. It may not be very grand, but it’s nice to have somewhere to come home to. I pay one of the village kids, Nebb, to sweep it out once a week and keep it from getting musty. He must have seen us in town, look— there’s a fire going already. I’ll have to remember to pay him extra for that.”

Unable to speak, Zelda followed Link into the house, watched him take noodles and dried mushrooms from a cupboard and toss them into a pot with a splash of cooking oil. She looked around his walls, which were hung with racks of weapons and armor he’d picked up along his travels. She walked up a set of wooden stairs to a lofted area with a bed, lighting candles as she went. Every available surface was cluttered with Link’s belongings: books, journals, folded laundry, writing implements, interesting-shaped rocks, bugs and beetles pinned to scraps of board. 

She stopped in front of a picture hanging on the wall, her heart in her throat. Six figures squeezed into the frame: Daruk, mountainous and jolly, crushed the Champions in his massive embrace. Mipha and Revali, both caught off guard, wore matching expressions of discomfiture. Urbosa somehow managed to look chic even as she was swept off her feet. Zelda’s own face, startled and jumpy, looking out of frame. 

And Link, smaller then, quieter. Looking at her.

“Mikah had it,” said Link beside her. The spoon in his hand dripped broth on the floor, unheeded. “He got it from Purah. He held onto it for years, but he gave it to his student Kass before leaving Hyrule for good.”

“I felt him leave,” said Zelda. “I felt him leave, but I don’t know where he went, or if he’s even still alive.” 

“I’m sorry, Zelda. I know what he meant to you.” Link took the picture off the wall, running his fingers lightly over the faces of the Champions, one by one. “I miss them,” he said quietly. “It was easier when I didn’t remember. It was easier but… I’d rather miss them, than not remember. Is that foolish?”

“It’s not foolish.”

“Do you want to know something?” he said suddenly.

“What?”

“I used to think that the Calamity might never come. And you and I would just go on like we were, forever. Going on adventures together, and meeting people and doing things for them. You could do your research, and I could keep you safe. I wanted to go on like that, Zelda. I wanted to stay with you. I wasn’t as noble as everyone thought. I wasn’t as honorable. I just knew who to believe in.”

Zelda forced herself to breathe. She looked down at her chest, watched it rise and fall, rise and fall.

“It was all so close,” she said. “A knife’s edge. A chance _. _ Ganon almost won. Ganon  _ could  _ have won. Hylia was not the guarantee Père thought she would be. I contained the Calamity using Hylia’s power, it’s true— but I contained it as myself. Zelda. Just me. Do you understand, Link? Do you know how close we all came to total annihilation? How close to the end of everything?”

“I understand,” he said. He dropped his spoon, took her icy hands in his warm and callused ones. “But we survived. The end didn’t come. And it wasn’t because a Goddess did a magic trick and fixed our problems. Ganon didn’t win because you didn’t let it. Not Hylia.  _ You. _ ”

She felt like a child again, too small to hold everything she was feeling. Link took her face in his hands, very carefully. He kissed her forehead, her cheek— she turned her lips to his. He smiled at her, so terribly tenderly.

“You were enough,” he said. “You were always enough.”

When she went to him then, it was as herself, just Zelda. And it was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks guys. So much. I hope you liked reading this. I loved writing it and I've loved all your feedback. Thank you.


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